


All The Stars Were Fallen Embers

by star-gazer (beta_omega)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Everybody Lives, F/M, Multi, Slow Build, Terminal Illnesses, im really bad at tagging, no betas we die like men, starts off canon compliant then diverges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 146,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beta_omega/pseuds/star-gazer
Summary: How else were thirteen dwarves, one hobbit, and one wandering wizard supposed to defeat a dragon and reclaim Erebor?Well, with a dragon of their own of course.
Relationships: Fíli/Original Female Characters, Kíli/Tauriel, Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo
Comments: 24
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work after years of absence, so please be kind.

“My Lord Thranduil, what you have found is a gift, one for which we are blessed, as much as this one has been cursed,” Elrond uttered, his voice reverent as his eyes passed over the creature sleeping in an inner courtyard.

“Indeed, a dark magic holds them together, but I do not dare to think what dark deeds the dragon might commit if they are separated,” spoke the Lady of Lorien.

The elven council had been called to discuss the recovery of a dragon, the accursed spawn of Ancalagon the Black. Deep in the poisoned woods of Mirkwood, Thranduil’s elves had found the creature gravely wounded and near death. Upon seeing the jagged edges of its wounds, the crossed marks of chains laid over its back, long drawn tight until they broke even the tough hide of dragon’s, there and on each of its limbs, a wing strewn beside it, unmoving. Immense as it was, its plight had not been caused by their hands and it held only pain and a wish for death in eyes like twin pools of the blackest night. Perhaps that was why the Captain of his Guard, Tauriel, had pleaded with her fellow Captain and Thranduil’s own son to help her heal it, so enraptured by the suffering of the poor creature.

However, it soon appeared that things would not be quite as simple as stitching the wounds and applying salves, and they would have a happy and hale dragon in their debt. While they had found it at the edge of night scouting the woods, when Legolas and Tauriel next went into the forest to seek it with a party large enough to haul it back to the palace, no dragon could be found. Not one fitting the description of what they’d found the night before.

In its place was the body of a creature halfway between a dwarf and a hobbit, thinner than the former and taller than the latter, but with a thick mane of hair black as night, unclothed and unconscious, nestled in the impression of the dragon’s body. Beside it, lay what looked like a dragonling of a length equal to the creature’s height, similarly unconscious with all the wounds of its larger form. Both were returned to the palace to be given aid. Perhaps when they woke, they could be questioned as to the nature of the beast.

Thranduil had the sole idea to keep the creature and the shade of the dragon in a courtyard for treatment rather than a room deeper inside, and the next night during its treatment confirmed his suspicions. The two creatures became whole once more after the last light of the sun passed below the horizon and separate when the dawn returned, but they did not wake.

No answers came even when the distinctly not draconian of the pair came to consciousness several days after they’d been recovered in the woods. Despite their best efforts to save the left wing, splinting it where the bone had broken through the skin, an infection had taken hold. The proximity to its heart left them with one choice; they removed the wing entirely to cut out the infection. From then on, an undercurrent of fear could be felt in all involved in the healing process.

Only his best healers, the captain of the guard, and his son were permitted entry into that courtyard concealed beneath a mesh of vines overhead. They kept it there for many more weeks as it regained its strength. Even when it woke, its grief upon realizing the chill on its left side was due to the lack of a wing to hold around itself was short-lived. At least outwardly. It kept its remaining wing held tightly against its body so that the shadow of it would not serve as a reminder of what it had lost, and it only ever rested on its right side, careful to avoid the healing flesh of the residual limb.

On its better days, Tauriel would endeavor to teach it Sindarin while Legolas watched, waiting his turn so he could teach it to fight with his twin blades. It never spoke in its dragon form and in the worst stilted Sindarin in its daylight form. On its worst days, Tauriel could still be found in the courtyard with it, seated among royal blue cushions on a couch built into the wall, the dragon sprawled across matching cloth draped over the stone, panting heavily, eyes shut. Although clearly it suffered from nightmares, it lacked the strength during those episodes to cause any harm, and at any rate, Tauriel remained at its side, ready to destroy it before it had the chance.

For a time she got better before she got worse again.

Tauriel had taken up a position of being its primary keeper, accompanying it on walks outside or through the halls, following at a distance on the rare occasions that Thranduil would seek its company. The Elvenking had been a steady presence for many nights when it was first healing, and Tauriel could feel his guilt for their inability to save its wing but did not speak on it. When they walked together, Thranduil typically took it out at night, teaching it the constellations and the stories behind them, until its head would droop and he would return it to the courtyard.

They became its family in a way, despite never naming it. Tauriel didn’t name it because a name was a personal thing to an elf, and it deserved to choose its own name but lacked the vocabulary to do itself justice. Thranduil, she suspected, didn’t name it for the same reason. Legolas was the only one who called it anything. He called it  _ tithen pen _ , little one.

However, the longer she stayed, the worse she became. Try as they might to make it comfortable, time was not on their side.

Whole days it lost to nightmares from which it could not wake, and when it did, it shrank back into a corner of its courtyard, refusing all food until eventually it lost consciousness. More than once, it even snapped at Tauriel, never in dragon form, but the she-elf found herself shrinking back from it and visiting less and less often.

“My lord Thranduil, you wished to see me,” Tauriel greeted the Elvenking in his personal chambers, not the least bit startled to find Legolas already there, leaning against the fireplace, his expression unreadable.

The Elvenking sighed deeply and set aside his goblet after emptying its contents completely, but refilling it immediately. “The dragon, it concerns me,” he explained, taking another sip, smaller this time. “Legolas tells me that you were nearly burned by the dragonfire. I was not aware it was capable of fire-breathing.”

Tauriel gaped, turning a fierce eye on the younger of the blonde elves before answering in a strained voice, “It didn’t mean to. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was coming out of a nightmare, and I must have startled it. It was so afraid.”

And truthfully, the dragon hadn’t meant to cause any harm. Tauriel had gone to its courtyard at the sound of it crying in the night, when the whimpers turned into a howl of pain. She had only just rounded the corner when a blast of white hot fire flooded the walkway immediately outside the courtyard, blackening the columns that separated it from the courtyard. Tauriel hadn’t even been harmed by it, but that wasn’t the point. Had anyone been walking past at the wrong time, that fire burned more brightly than any had ever seen. It would not have been survivable.

Thranduil cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Tauriel, I did not ask you to defend it. I merely wanted to inform you that perhaps it is time that it moved on. I will take a small escort across the Misty Mountains, to Imladris. The same darkness that corrupts the Greenwood I believe is now corrupting it. You will be our rear guard, Legolas and I will lead, unless you would rather remain here?”

Though she would miss the dragon, somewhere in the back of her mind she had known this time would come. The balance had tipped a long time ago, more bad days than good. The threat of fire was always going to be Thranduil’s last straw, but to be honest, she was grateful that he’d allowed things to continue this long if only because, despite the dragon’s still poor grasp of Sindarin, they had grown close. Though Legolas would never disobey his father, she knew he felt the same. They had enjoyed its company. They would be sorry to see it go.

Tauriel now nodded her head and bowed to her king before returning to her full height. “When do we leave?”

* * *

* * *

Though the journey was long due to the nature of traveling with a dragon, though mute, deigned to follow alongside, it accompanied them all the way to Imladris, where it now rested. Tauriel hardly strayed from its side since the party had arrived from Mirkwood. Every step it took that carried it further from the poison had been another step toward clarity. The white glow of its chest when it inhaled burned a little more brightly as they crossed over the Misty Mountains. The olive-toned skin of its daylight form had a warmth to it that Tauriel hadn’t realized had been missing, but it appeared more full of life with every passing mile.

It saddened her heart to think of all the pain it must have endured in the Woodland Realm, but they hadn’t known then the impact of the poison in the woods. Tauriel had already reconciled the possibility that it might never return, having tasted the fresh air and the mist from the many waterfalls of Imladris.

So, while she enjoyed the newfound peace in the valley, sitting astride the beast’s neck as they wandered the halls freely, the three leaders of Elves held council amongst themselves.

“It cannot remain in the Greenwood,” Thranduil admitted after a long period of silence. “ It cannot remain in the east so near to the influence of the remains of Morgoth’s power. The only reason it would have come by its wounds is by the hands of orcs. My people have had no reason to fear it in its stay so far, but I will not risk their lives to leave it open to the influence of whatever poisons my lands. Nightmares have become a part of its existence within my borders, and already it has unleashed its fire once by mistake. I will not wait for it to set the forest ablaze. It does not know what it does, but that cannot excuse it.”

“Does it not speak for itself? What is it that it would pose such a threat? You brought us a small thing, one of the old Easterlings of the squatter type, but now it stands before us, a  _ dragon _ ,” Elrond asked. “How can this be?”

Galadriel cast her eyes down at the sleeping form of the dragon below, the corners of her lips tugged upwards with a small smile. “Its mind is quiet now. I should like to attempt to investigate its mind in the daylight.”

“What will happen to her?” Thranduil asked.

“Until such a time that it is determined to be a threat, it will be permitted to remain here. It will want for nothing,” Elrond assured his kind, “and its presence here will be kept secret from whatever spies remain of Morgoth’s creation. Surely, it has not gone unnoticed that one of his creatures has escaped his rule. I imagine some will seek to recover it.”

“Good, then it’s settled. My kin depart at dawn, we have been away too long already,” Thranduil announced and brushing imaginary dust from his lap, stood and made to exit.

A finely manicured hand caught his elbow. Galadriel’s face was calm, but there was a sharpness to her words. “You carry a deep love for it, Lord Thranduil. Force back the darkness that shrinks your borders and make safe the Greenwood so that it may return to you. It carries the same love for you and your kin. Do not despair.”

Thranduil gave no answer and removed himself from the room, leaving the Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond to discuss their plans amongst themselves.

The next morning, the dragon woke clear headed but retained the dragon form even when the sun came over the ridge of the valley. Transforming would take more energy than it currently had after its trip over the Misty Mountains. It yawned and curled back on itself, staring vacantly at the place where it had grown accustomed to the presence of the she-elf. The Mirkwood Elves had departed early in the pre-dawn without a goodbye. It had heard them leaving, but on Elrond’s orders not to leave its courtyard unaccompanied, remained there, whimpering mournfully as it paced up and down the length of the yard. 

It had not budged since.

It raised its head to watch as Lady Galadriel entered its courtyard and took a seat on the very same stone bench where Tauriel typically sat to sharpen her knives. A sad whine escaped its throat unbidden, it lowered its head to its paws.

“You miss them already, don’t you,” Galadriel commented and approached with a bow of her head. “You must know that names are a personal thing amongst elves. Names are usually first given by the father, then by the mother, chosen by the elf themselves. Then a third by his peers. I would not pretend to know you well enough to name you myself, but someone of your mental fortitude deserves to be called by something other than the form that they so desperately despise.”

It whined again to be reminded, tucking its muzzle underneath the surviving wing.

A gentle hand on the side of its neck begged it not to hide. “You deserve a name, to be treated as an equal,  _ tithen pen _ .”

For the better part of an hour, Galadriel had taken it upon herself to use her skill looking into the minds of others to speak with the dragon and to give it that which it had been lacking, a name. She had returned to her previous seat on the stone bench and the dragon would huff and shake its head or stay silent in thought depending on the offered name.

“Calithileth, after the moonlight?”

“Egnassil. It means Sharp-pointed one, fitting for a creature armed with twin blades.”

“Or Tirnalil, for Star Gazer, if you like that one better.”

Above them, Elrond watched from a covered walkway, arms folded over the railing, his mind guarded against the Lady of Lorien by habit more than necessity. He dropped his guard and reached out to her.  _ “And it understands?” _

_ “Yes, although it cannot speak in this form, but we have records of the great dragons of old being capable of speech so I would not dismiss the possibility that it might yet be able to learn.” _ She deigned to answer him but then swiftly returned to the matter of giving the creature a name, for in the time of its care under the wing of Thranduil, it had gone completely without one. “I can conjure more names if you like.”

A gentle shake of its head.  _ No _ .

Galadriel smiled. “Do you prefer Egnassil?”

Silence.

“Then Tirnalil?”

The dragon dipped its head twice before resting it on its crossed forelimbs.

“Very well,  _ Tirnalil _ , it is a pleasure to have met you, you have my deepest apologies that you have gone so long without a name. Now I have a favor to ask of you, and it is no small thing, so you must object if you find it unendurable. I will hear you and I will withdraw immediately. Do you understand?”

Galadriel rose from the bench and took a single step forward, waiting for the dragon to invite it forwards. It had sucked in a sharp breath at her advance, making the glow of its chest burn bright for a fraction of a second but no longer.

A single nod.

The Lady continued forward until she stood mere inches from its massive head, a single hand outstretched in an offer for it to close the gap itself. She would not approach any closer than the dragon actively consented to. Even now its tail coiled and uncoiled reflexively at its side, and Galadriel had to focus on the shine of its eyes to keep her mind off the haunting sound of the twin blades scraping against the stone.

“You cannot yet speak in this form, but I can still look into your mind for the answers I seek. I would not do this without your consent. If I am right, your previous captors, the ones who took your wing, had no such qualms. And I should like to know how it is that dark magic causes you to take this form.”

Her slender hand felt like the sunlight itself when she pressed it to the dragon’s cheek just beneath its eye. A soft smile and its eyes shut as it pressed back gently but with all the need of a creature that had not known a kind touch in many years. Those great black eyes slid shut and it released the breath it had been holding for so long.

_ “Breathe.” _

And Galadriel entered the mind of the dragon.

The she-elf went back to the beginning, to her earliest memories. Everything was so dark, and every single nerve felt like a firebrand. There was no memory that was not distorted by the intensity of that pain. Glimpses of chains and black rock, magma and fire, and legions upon legions of orcs.

Galadriel found the memory of its escape and recoiled from it initially, but the dragon whimpered and pulled her back. It wanted her to see. Together they relived the pain of the long knives piercing its body and pinning it to the scorched earth to the east, then the insurmountable pain of forcing itself to its feet in spite of them. Unleashing a wave of fire that burned its throat even now to blast a hole in the orcs that swarmed to it. They launched grappling hooks that sank into the delicate webbing of its wings, tossed chains over it to drag it back. It fought and it fought and it fought. But bone broke before the chains did. It roared in defeat and stilled.

Then it was as if a fire was started that was beyond its control. Something in it had changed, and its mind went blank. Galadriel could see nothing, could only feel. Fear, heat, fire. That white fire returned with an intensity greater than before, a continuous wall of heat, until its next memory was of being found by the Woodland elves.

It locked eyes with Tauriel first. The red-haired elf hadn’t known it then, but Galadriel knew it now. It had tried to ask for a good death. It had tried to ask for an out.

But Tauriel had turned her back on it.

It wept itself to sleep that night.

When she finally managed to pull herself back into the present, it was to find herself in the same position as before, a single hand beneath the dragon’s eye, but to either side of her were long gauges cut into the stone floor of the courtyard, clawed toes taut and trembling with the effort to keep still. When her eyes rose again to meet the dragon’s, she knew to expect pain, for she had summoned the worst of its memories, but the shame came as a surprise.

“Hush,  _ tithen pen _ , little one, do not be ashamed. You have endured a great evil and you still live. We cannot control the circumstances of our own birth, we can only control what comes after. You carry the blood of Ancalagon the Black, but you are not that fell creature. I cannot promise that the curse that binds you can be broken, but I shall endeavor to discover the way if there is one. Morgoth was responsible for the corruption of many, but he failed in this with you. Your heart does not belong to that darkness, nor will it ever be claimed by it. You have the protection of the Elves, now and as long as we live. Rest now and find peace under the stars for you are in the valley of Lord Elrond, the greatest healer in all of Middle Earth.”

Elrond’s expression could only be described as pinched when Galadriel finally rejoined him with her radiant face marred by a frown. Between the gouges in the stone floor and in the columns surrounding the courtyard, slashed by the writhing of the dragon’s tail, Galadriel’s efforts had drained them both. He held her by the arm, allowing her to lean against him, as they walked.

“It appears that she is all that remains from Morgoth’s last corruption of the Easterlings and the dragons. I believe it to be the work of Necromancy. He had to have killed one of his own dragons and one of their people to recall the souls and rejoin them in a single form, but the Easterling was not willing. I believe it is by her will that they are able to separate at all. A creature born of darkness, the magic that binds them is strongest in the absence of the light. It may be that, given time, she can separate them fully by her own power, but the Easterlings are a mortal race. I do not know what it will do to her to lose the dragon’s influence.”

“She has to be several centuries old, yet the dragon fits in my courtyard with little issue. How can this be?”

“She must shackle its power somehow so it cannot reach full size, and I suspect that is why her own form is stunted compared to what I would expect from one of her race. Her mind is stronger than her meager form suggests, though it is susceptible to exhaustion, just as we are, perhaps more.”

Elrond paused mid stride and looked directly at the small smile reforming on Galadriel’s face. “You like her.”

“I do,” Galadriel admitted without an ounce of hesitation, pulling her arm free to wave her arm at the stars above them. “She chose the name Star-Gazer for herself and resists the constant pull of the evil in the East for the sake of being herself for a small handful of hours each day. How can I be dissatisfied by the strength of her spirit?”

Galadriel turned her face away and kept walking back to the sleeping quarters Elrond had provided, leaving the elf lord to his own thoughts. Thranduil had already departed from the valley to tend to his own lands although Galadriel despaired at the thought that he might now simply withdraw into his palace and leave the forest to its own defense, the poison had grown so great. Still, it was the necessary thing to remove the dragon from the Greenwood as soon as it could be trusted to move safely under its own power, and Galadriel could not begrudge the elf-King for making that choice. Clearly all of the Mirkwood elves felt the loss.

She mourned for the broken wing, but truthfully, no bird could have flown quickly enough to summon Elrond to heal it. Tirnalil would never fly again, and that was something she already appeared to have made peace with. Despite the permanent scars and the broken stump on her left side, she was a beautiful creature, more than the stories of Ancalagon or Smaug had ever given them reason to expect from fire-drakes. Thranduil had to have felt the loss of her keenly, for her scales glimmered white like the purest stars, her eyes sparkled, a reflection of the night sky above, so deep and complete was the blackness of those pupil-less pools. She would have been a creature worthy to rival the beauty of the lost Jewels of Lasgalen.

Instead, she had been brought to Imladris for further healing, where she could be properly kept safe. Galadriel would not call it grooming, but Tirnalil would become a proper ally. In the meantime, she would have the peace that she had been missing.

Imladris remained Tirnalil’s home for many decades thereafter. Galadriel returned the famed trees of Lothlorien after nearly a month beside her, and Elrond became her sole guardian even as he gained another charge. Clearly, raising identical twin boy elves meant nothing fazed you anymore. 

Even if it meant teaching a small almost-hobbit, almost-dwarf stunted Easterling Tirnalil how to read and write in multiple languages, all the while trying to ignore the limp form of the sleeping dragon draped over her lap. Although no ill-effects had been discovered purely based on a physical separation between them, it became evident that any harm done to the body of the sleeping dragon, was similarly done to her own body. In the interest of preventing harm to herself, she preferred to keep the dragon either draped over her shoulders or in a satchel slung over one shoulder, depending on the company she kept. Some of the elves, despite having spent many years sharing a dwelling with her, were too unnerved by the dragon that she had eventually picked up which she needed to hide it from and which she did not.

Throughout that time, they learned that while she finally acquired enough of the language to hold a conversation, some days she preferred not to, something to do with how much energy it took to focus on staying separate that she didn’t like to get distracted. She was too scared of what might happen if she lost track of what she was doing while talking about the weather. Words were much more difficult to pull from her even after she mastered speaking around a dragon’s teeth and tongue, but she would do it when the need arose, usually to warn Lord Elrond that she might need to be left alone a little longer the next morning. She seemed to anticipate her bad days and separated herself for their safety, fearful of another brush with dragonfire.

She also, with the help of Elrod’s sons Elladan and Elrohir, discovered the greatest hidden gems that Imladris had to offer, including the room behind one of the many waterfalls of the valley with a quartz pedestal that caught the light of the moon just right. It was one of the few rooms large enough that she did not have to depart before nightfall and she could still escape without breaking a new hole into a wall, simply by walking through the waterfall and scrambling down the cliff face below it to another open courtyard.

Naturally, that meant that when the dwarf-king, his advisor, and the Hobbit accompanied Lord Elrond and Mithrandir to the moon-stone room, she was already inside, resting tucked in the shadows tightly against the wall.

Though she did her best not to draw their attention towards her, she locked eyes with the hobbit, whose fearful gulp did not pass unheard by draconian ears. He, however, did not mention it, merely stood ramrod straight with eyes focused straight ahead on the dwarf-king as he discussed something about a hidden door at the pedestal. It had seemed heated at the time, but Tirnalil had made every effort to pass unnoticed until she could make her escape.

After they’d been gone for some time, Gandalf reentered the chamber with hardly a sound and said her name quietly but loudly enough to draw her attention away from the cliff face she had been preparing to climb down. She turned to face him but stayed at the edge, the moonlight dancing on her white scales and shining on her crown of sharp horns. He crossed the distance between them and removed a creased and tattered map from inside his robes, placing it on the pedestal that had dimmed with the covering of the moon by passing clouds. He stepped back and invited her to investigate it. 

“The Lonely Mountain?” she murmured, curious, cocking her head to the side. Then she narrowed her eyes at the image of a dragon drawn in red over the peak of those mountains. “What is this?”

“That, my dear friend, is Smaug, a fire-drake that dwells within the Lonely Mountain, within Erebor, the homeland of the dwarves that I bring with me. This is a map to a hidden door, the only way the mountain may be entered while it is so guarded,” Gandalf explained without really explaining much of anything in his typical fashion. 

“Why are you showing me this?” she asked more pointedly.

“Because it is their destiny to reclaim the mountain, but they cannot do it without your help. Only two things can kill a dragon that still exist in Middle Earth: a Black Arrow,” Gandalf paused, “or another dragon.”

Tirnalil withdrew rapidly from the pedestal, curling her tail over her paws as she sought to shrink herself down. It shook its head several times and leveled him with narrowed eyes. “And you would entrust me with that task?”

“As surely as I know myself, I know that while there is breath in your body, you will fight. Something tells me that it is time you left the safety of the valley. I cannot force you to follow a Company you have never met, but I cannot hide my hope that you will.” He paused to regard her with kind eyes, chuckling to himself when he was done looking her over. She snorted, eyes still narrowed. “Tomorrow, the White Council shall meet at the highest courtyard, in the early morning. It is then you must make your choice. May we meet again, Tirnalil.”

Then he left, swiping the map from the pedestal and returning it to his pocket. The door clicked shut behind him.

Having no weapons of her own, Tirnalil certainly couldn’t be expected to follow after the company, certainly not when the expectation was that she would defeat a dragon for them. She paced round and round her courtyard until the sun came up and she shed her skin, shifted into her daylight form, and dressed for the day in a loose tunic and trousers. If not for the amount of dwarves in their party, she might never have noticed the train of little figures escaping from the Last Homely House along a narrow ridge, slipping through a gap and disappearing from her sight.

They were leaving.

And if Gandalf was correct, and he often was, they were doomed.

“My Lords, forgive me,” she whispered to herself, then hastily exchanged her clothes for a set more suited for traveling, rolling more spares into a large leather sling with an adjustable length of strap. She wouldn’t be able to sneak down to the storerooms for any food, but few things could escape a dragon on the hunt, as little as she liked to practice that skillset, she knew she could rely on it. Sighing heavily, she shook the last thread of doubt from her mind, and leapt over the stone railing, letting her feet trained by many years of doing the very same thing carry her safely across rooftops until she came to the same passageway the dwarves had escaped through.

Far above them, Gandalf sat at a table with Saruman the White and Lord Elrond. Before him, the broken blade of a fallen King of Men. Meanwhile, Galadriel stood a little ways away, eyes on the rising sun. Distantly, he was aware of Saruman’s continued assurances that the blade could not be what Radagast had already confirmed, but his mind was on the Lady of Lorien, who smiled at him, laughter and disbelief in those sage eyes.

_ “They are leaving.” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “And you sent Tirnalil after them?” _

Gandalf merely winked back at the Lady of Lorien and returned his gaze to the blade on the table.

_ “They will need her aid, but whether they will accept it, I cannot say.” _

_ “Whether they will accept it, they will not go without it.” _

Neither could dismiss the underlying fear even as they turned back to the conversation at hand. Gandalf had sent their friend into a war she knew nothing of, spurred into it with only the knowledge that she was needed. Such was the will of the dragon, so consumed by self-deprecation that she would not stand by suffering if it was in her power to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves get their first glimpse of the dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More notes at the end.

Night fell over the Misty Mountains at the same time the rain started in earnest. For perhaps the first time in many years, Tirnalil was grateful for it. The bite of the freezing rain could not be felt through the thick scaly hide, and the rocks that were too slick to be safe proved no match against the sharp claws of her giant paws. She hardly even kept to the narrow path up the side of the mountain, her form so large she clung to the sides of the canyon.

Up ahead, she could hear more than see it, but the legend of the stone giants apparently was rooted in truth. Great figures of stone that dwarfed even her, wrenched boulders from the mountainside and hurled them at each other. Three such figures she could see, and pulled herself tightly against the rock face, her wing pulled over her face to shield her from the soaring debris. Amidst the inhuman roars of the giants, there were several screams and shouts from what could only be dwarves. She growled and forced herself to keep moving.

It was only by the demise of one of the giants that she was forced to slow. In its fall, it had torn a large part of the path down with it and left what remained highly unstable. She would have to ascend a great deal before looping back down to find the trail.

Somehow, in the amount of time it took to get around the rockslide waiting to happen, she’d arrived at the opening to a cave just in time to see a trapdoor swing shut and muffle the surprised shouts of the dwarves.

Gandalf found her whimpering and scrabbling at a line between the rocks on the floor of the cave, but her bulk prevented her from doing so with more than the single arm she managed to reach inside. A tap of the tip of his staff to her shoulder and she retracted the arm, under which he stepped to investigate. As grateful as she was that he’d come at all, after sending her wholly unarmed and unprepared into the wilderness, she had few good things to say to him.

“Goblins?”

She huffed her answer. Affirmative. The shift away from language would be dealt with later. The desperate nature of her inability to speak now spoke loudly enough the desperate nature of the danger the dwarves now faced, separated from the beast. She could not help them if she could not reach them.

“Then you must follow the path through to the eastern side of the mountain. I shall do my utmost to retrieve them, but I do not think our orc friends are far behind. The dwarves will not survive without aid. You must be on the other side of the mountain before we resurface, or I fear what shall become of Thorin’s Company. I came across the trail of a large warg pack, larger than any I have ever seen amassed under a single leader, the Pale Orc. I will see you on the other side. Now go.”

And with a blast of light from the staff, he disappeared beneath the trapdoor, sword drawn and at the ready for whatever would meet him below. The dragon was left behind.

She was no fool, though, and regardless of the immensity of her own size, a pack of wargs was not a threat to be so easily brushed off. The stump that remained of her wing was reminder enough of that. Sharp claws anchored her to the rain slicked rocks as she propelled herself ever faster. She would cross the mountain range from above before the Company could do the same below or she would burn herself out trying. The howls of the wargs behind her drove her ever onwards.

For all the inconvenience solely due to changing form between day and night, it was all the more inconvenient that the change rarely, if ever, occurred to her advantage. Her concentration broke when a sudden wave of nausea spilled over her at the first rays of light peeking over the horizon. She lost her balance on the constantly shifting rocks of the canyon walls and rolled several times as she fell, the only mercy being that she had been in her dragon form for the majority of the instances where she crashed against the dry, barren rocks at the base of the mountains until she finally came to a stop a few feet from the treeline, battered and badly bruised but miraculously whole. A few yards away was the equally bruised body of the dragonling.

Despite the aches that willed her to take a rest, she forced herself to her hands and knees and dragged herself over to the unconscious creature. Several years of practice had taught her how to keep a change of clothes with her. The same sling she typically used to carry and conceal the dragon had straps long enough when fully unfolded that she could loop it around her neck. Inside that sling she kept a long traveling cloak, some smallclothes, and a formless shift dress that reached her ankles. On her feet she shoved on simple leather boots, tough and without adornment. 

Having secured the dragonling, she scoured the dirt for any sign that she’d either beaten the dwarves out of the mountain or that they’d beaten her, and found it some ways away. The track was distorted by the rush of each dwarf trampling the tracks of the one before it, but it was unmistakably their trail. Wide, heavy boots left their mark in the soft dust between the rocks, forming their own path through the trees.

There would be no rest for her now.

Tugging the strap of her sling more tightly about her shoulders, she started running into the woods. Always with the running. 

While her luck had run out and forced her to travel after the dwarves with little rest, sleep had claimed her against her will at some point. She startled to full alertness at the first howl of a warg on the scent and turned her eyes to the west, spitting out the dirt and leaves that had found their way into her mouth in her unwitting slumber. Less than a finger’s width between the sun and the horizon and the chill of the oncoming night. She would better serve the dwarves if she waited those precious few more minutes for the sun to set.

With bated breath she pressed herself into the hollow in the earth between two roots, willing the warg to stop its sniffing and continue its pursuit of the dwarves. Fingers creeping in the dirt, she wrapped them around a rock and hurled it away from her.

Instantly it surged after the noise, and she could breathe a little easier.

The next warg was not quite so lucky when it came across her track. It threw its head back in a howl to call more to its side. A mistake, for the night had come and already she had dressed down to only her traveling cloak. She danced and dodged each of its lunges until three more came to its aid.

Tirnalil never liked this part, but it was a necessary evil. The wargs had circled in too closely. She would need its full strength to fight her way through. The dragon roared louder than it had any right to while still in this form, she would be hoarse the next morning, but for now the pain in her throat was drowned out by the pain in every inch of her body as she gave in to the power of the curse. Limbs struck out as they took shape, claws cutting through warg flesh easily. The dragon was in control now.

Another roar sounded in the night as the white dragon surveyed its kills. It had been a long time since it last had a proper meal, and the little thing that shared its body had not brought any food in its pouch. Blood dripped from teeth as tall as trees. One warg would be enough to sustain it for many nights. Taking up one of the dead wargs in its jaws, it raised its head towards the sky, and swallowed the creature whole.

In the back of its mind, the little creature took what little rest it could find.

For now, the dragon would do as it wished. More by force of habit and less by conscious decision, it dipped its head and nudged the straps of the sling until it got its muzzle through, then allowed it to slide to the base of its neck, shaking itself carefully to get the straps past its crown of horns. Belly full, it loped through the forest, first the hunted, now the hunter, following the sounds of heavy paws barreling through the forest. It moved like a shadow, despite its color and size, and cut down the fell creatures with ease. It did not stop to feast again.

Sometime between the seventh and eighth dead wargs, the dragon felt something stirring in the back of its mind and froze in the middle of swinging its weaponized tail at its newest assailant. Its lips curled back into a snarl, and the eight warg fell in a far more vicious death than its predecessors. If it was being forced back into shadow, the dragon would at least have some fun on its way out.

Tirnalil wrestled control back from the dragon and banished it to its cage. Shaking her head, she tried not to look at the bodies and instead refocused her efforts and finding the dwarves.

Who were really not so hard to find at all if one merely listened.

They had all been driven into the trees by the time she came over the last hill before she saw they’d been forced to the edge of a cliff. Her sudden arrival bought them a precious moment to readjust their grips while the wargs were distracted. She could see at least one dwarf being hoisted by his arms, now much farther up out of reach of the warg jumping at him from below. Where they could not bite the dwarves, jaws closed around the lower branches ripping them from the trunks with a vicious savagery. They would not be able to get back to the ground without serious risk of injury, and a crippled dwarf would make for an easy target for such a large pack.

She did not understand the Black Speech being shouted over the barks and growls, but she readied herself against the wargs that abandoned the trees in favor of a more immediate threat to their goal, coiling her twin-bladed tail in front of her. She roared, flashing giant teeth at the foul creatures that gathered around her.

Four of the wargs leading the charge fell immediately, the huge cuts to their throats and chests left no chance of survival. Those behind them drew up short, unwilling to come to the same end as their fallen packmates. They yipped and snapped at her but made no attempt to get closer. Tirnalil lowered her head and took a step forward, sweeping her tail back and forth.

Finally, one attempted to dart around to her side but was caught by the whiplike tail. With a quick snap, the blades made short work of it. It did not rise again. She rose onto her hind limbs, her single wing outstretched behind her, and crushed two more underfoot when she landed, snatching a third between her jaws. Then, she turned those black eyes on their leader, a pale orc mounted on a white warg. Immediately she dropped the warg from her mouth.

Time seemed to slow around them as she saw his face morph into a malicious grin. Her heart thudded in her ears. She remembered that face. She just didn’t know from where.

Again, it spoke in Black Speech, and raised a shining metal claw in the air, an orcish attempt at a prosthetic limb. Now, all of the wargs redirected from their quarry in the trees to surround her. Good, having literally cut down a large portion of the pack in the woods, there were too few to pose a real threat against her life now, but still enough to keep her from rejoining the dwarves, who were still pinned in the last tree at the edge of the cliff, penned in by the pale orc and two others beside him.

Suddenly, a flaming pine cone was dropped between the pale orc’s mount and the base of the tree, forcing it back as the dry brush caught fire. More followed after it. A great wall of flame surged upwards, separating Tirnalil and the wargs from the dwarves.

Gandalf shouted from the top of his tree, “Tirnalil, drive them over the edge!”

Tirnalil struggled to keep an eye on the dwarves while doing her level best to herd the wargs towards the cliff, but she could not afford to let any get a hold of her when they ducked away from her forward march. Through the wall of flame, she could barely make out the shape of the dwarf-king drop down from the tree to make a stand against the pale orc. He shouted something in the dwarves’ secret language that was answered in Black Speech by the orc. Who knew if either could understand the other.

The dwarf never stood a chance. 

She could only watch, helpless as the white warg seized the dwarf in its jaws and bit down. She roared as the sound of bones crunching reached her ears and redirected the rage at the wargs still in front of her. Pulling from the dragon’s strength, her movement became charged and her form seemed to swell and grow, and massive claws swiped across the field and two wargs fell dead immediately, a third left gasping on the ground as its insides spilled out amongst the leaves. It was enough for her to make a break towards the white warg, each footfall like a thunderclap, until she stood before it. 

The warg dropped the dwarf immediately and spun around towards her, teeth bared, refusing to acknowledge the kicks to its side from its master. It roared in her face and she answered in kind. The other two mounted orcs now broke away from their positions beside the pale orc and forced their mounts to get close to her, trying to cut her with jagged swords, but they didn’t dare get close enough to risk their own wargs. One would dart in and the other would dart away, constantly keeping her at war with which to target. Finally, she reared up and swiped at them both and tossed both towards the cliff where they lay groaning beneath the weight of their dying wargs.

With a war cry, the rest of the dwarves dropped from the trees to rally around their fallen king. At their head stood a little thing, the hobbit, with a sword that glowed a pale blue in the night. At his back, the largest dwarf among them, bald-headed but tattooed, holding a warhammer in each hand. They charged forwards and through the fire to retrieve their king.

The pale orc yanked at the ruff of his warg, but the beast could not be turned from its staredown with the dragon. Tirnalil would not be the first to break if it meant keeping it from rejoining the fight. They danced around each other, matching step for step. 

The wargs she had abandoned to draw their pale brethren off the king now encircled the dwarves and their token hobbit, each step shrinking it down further and further. Right as one leapt in the air over a fallen tree, talons black as night and larger than the wargs themselves, wrenched it from midair and tossed it off the side of the cliff.

Her courage found her when she realized it was the Great Eagles that had come to their aid. More of the legendary birds dropped from the sky, either aiming for wargs or for dwarves, until few were left on the scorched battlefield. All of them disappeared into the blackness, swallowed up by fog and shadow. She rushed for the white warg, but with a howl, one of its pack had leapt forward to catch the Tirnalil’s claws instead. Finally, the pale orc forced his mount away from the thick of the fight and out of Tirnalil’s reach. She fought with renewed vigor, slashing with her tail at the wargs that attempted to bite at her heels, snarling at any who were brave enough to face her head on. But for every warg she cut down, two more seemed to rise up in its place. The stream of them never ended.

Gandalf cried out to the dragon as the eagles swept over the battlefield, but already the distance between them had grown too far for his voice to reach her. He could only watch the poor beast rear up against the flames, belting out a sorrowful cry, as the eagles carried off the dwarves it had so loyally come to protect though it had never met them. His voice was drowned out by the dragon’s song and answered by the musical cries of the eagles. There were no eagles mighty enough to take up the burden that was a dragon of that size. They turned their backs to it and began their flight from the cliff and beyond the reach of the wargs.

The remaining wargs deprived of their initial quarry now turned their full force against the dragon, gnashing jaws as it was forced back toward the Pale Orc. His heart ached to help her, but the eagles would not stop. They could not afford to whilst they carried the heavily wounded king. Gandalf had to trust that the dragon would survive the night.

He could only watch when the dragon screamed and struggled to bear weight on its right forelimb. Before the dragon stood the Pale Orc, unmounted, its back turned to the wizard so Gandalf could not see his expression. The dragon staggered back on unsteady legs, but with gathering speed, made its last rush towards the pale orc. It rammed its crowned head at the orc and knocked both it and its warg into the trees, but it kept running until it dropped off the edge of the cliff and into the darkness. Only silence followed.

The wizard directed his attention to the eagle Gwaihir at once. “You must spare another of your kin to find the dragon. We cannot hope to succeed in our quest without it, though it may appear different if your kin cannot find it before dawn.”

When at last they came upon the solitary peak of the Carrock, the eagles set down their burdens and took off back towards their own lands. The second largest of the group remained behind for a moment longer. Gandalf whispered something to it before it flew back the way they’d come rather than following its kin.

Gandalf stood back from the dwarves, some circled round their king, others checking themselves over for wounds they’d forgotten in the haze of adrenaline. After the departure of the great eagle, he returned to the side of the hobbit, clutching his staff wearily, with an exhaustion that he felt deep in his bones.

Bilbo blinked up at him with an honest curiosity that warred with a deep seated fear. He hadn’t liked the clause in his contract about the threat of evisceration, incineration, and whatever else Smaug was capable of. He had not liked it at all, but he had hoped to have a little more time to reconcile his fears before he came face to face with his very first dragon.

“Gandalf, please tell me my eyes deceived me.”

Gandalf shook his head with a wry smile before patting the hobbit on the back. “Oh, my dear friend, I’m afraid your eyes are just fine, but you need not fear. That was a good friend of mine, one whom I should think you will be very glad to meet. For now, we had better catch our breath. The eagles have bought us precious time.”

Then Gandalf left him to his thoughts in exchange for looking after the king, who still had yet to wake.

Bilbo fell mute for a time and dangled his feet from the edge of the stone spire, idly wondering how long the climb to the forest floor would take. It seemed so very far away from up here. He found himself very glad for his Tookish blood, for no Baggins could have handled the height so well. 

After a while, Balin came to join him with a groan as he settled down, muttering about old bones. “You did a brave thing, leading the charge in the king’s defense, foolish perhaps, but brave nonetheless.”

“I can certainly say I felt a fool as soon as I did it, Balin,” Bilbo sighed. “I never should have come. I was promised one dragon, not  _ two _ .”

“I shall take up the matter with Thorin. Perhaps you can bargain for more than your one-fourteenth share,” Balin joked and nudged at the hobbit with his elbow. They shared a friendly smile before turning their eyes back to the sunrise.

“About Thorin, will he be all right?”

Balin sighed heavily. “Aye, I believe that he will be, given time. No less than two cracked ribs, but Dori believes that to be the worst of the damage. The king is badly bruised and will be slower for a time, but he will recover well. I hate to think about it, but I do not think we would have lived long enough to be rescued without that dragon.”

“Were you not scared of it?”

When the old dwarf next locked eyes with the hobbit, Bilbo felt the sadness in his eyes as keenly as a knife to the heart. He was left gaping for the rawness of it.

“You don’t need to speak of it if you do not wish. I shouldn’t have asked. It was intrusive and I’m sorry.”

“I was young when I saw the destruction a dragon could bring. I can still remember the heat of its flames on my skin if I think back to that cursed day. My heart aches at the memory, but I would not say that this dragon had the same effect,” Balin said carefully, settling his weight on his hands behind him to look at the clouds above, pale pink in the early morning light. “And I admit I didn’t get a good look at it, but I heard its cries as the eagles bore us away. I could not fear a creature so full of torment and misery.”

Bilbo hummed, thoughtful. He struggled to recall if he’d heard the same, but all he could remember was the rushing wind in his ears and the eagles calling to each other. His mind took him back to the strange fellow he’d met in the goblin tunnels, the otherworldly creature he’d called Gollum in his mind, after the odd noise he made. Pity had stayed his hand when he’d had the chance to slay Gollum. He would have been right to kill him, his throat still ached from its attempt to kill him first, but when those big round eyes turned to him, Bilbo hadn’t had the heart to finish his swing.

But Gollum was a creature small enough to defeat with a letter opener. A dragon most decidedly was not. Bilbo wished he would not ever have to meet either one again.

Roughly when the sun had reached its peak, Dori and Oin had determined that Thorin had been patched up to the best of their ability, and they slumped back where they sat, throwing their arms up over their faces to block out the sun.

“Until your king awakes, there is a cave at the base of the stairs. Might I suggest that you all bathe in turns?” Gandalf tipped his head towards Dwalin, who had an unhealthy amount of goblin blood and possibly goblin gore on his clothes and in his beard. He was quite certain that particular dwarf was the source of the smell currently assaulting his senses.

Dwalin grunted but picked out more than one dirt-encrusted glob of flesh from his beard when he looked down at himself.

“How do you know so much about this place, Gandalf?” Bilbo piped up, leaning his head back to peer up at the grey wizard without moving from his seat.

“Well, I have a friend who lives not far from here.”

Bilbo scrambled to his feet and gasped at him, incredulous. “A a- a- friend? I’m sorry, a friend? You mean, like th-th-that dragon is a friend of yours?” He gestured vaguely back in the direction of the Misty Mountains, hands flapping.

Gandalf tilted his head from side to side as if weighing what words to speak next though he doubted any he chose would please the startled hobbit. “Of a sort, I suppose. Although the dragon at least will not kill us. This friend, he will either help us or he will kill us. Which remains to be seen.”

Bilbo’s jaw dropped, and he found himself ushered down the steps before he could regain control of his tongue.

The next morning, when Thorin awoke with a groan, his company gathered around him instantly, until the ring of Gandalf’s staff against the stone snapped them out of it. They backed away quickly to give the king some breathing room. Only Dwalin remained close. Grateful for the moment of peace, Thorin forced himself to his feet with Dwalin’s help and nodded to the wizard. His fingers dipped under the edge of his shirt and found the bandages there. He winced when he pressed too hard, and Dori was quick to reprimand him.

“Where is the hobbit?” Thorin grunted, blue eyes sharp even through the haze of pain.

Bilbo squeaked from where he stood beside Balin, and immediately paled when those eyes locked with his. He had half a mind to flee back down the steps and drown himself in the hidden pool, better that than to suffer another round of insults, but his feet remained rooted when the coldness transformed into warmth.

“I was wrong about you, Master Burglar. It appears you are not the simple grocer I believed to be. We shall make a warrier out of you yet. You have my thanks.”

Rendered mute, Bilbo could only nod in response.

Balin opened his mouth as if to speak, but Gandalf’s lips turned downwards at the corners and he shook his head. Instead of continuing with his initial thought, he broached the topic of helping the king down to the cave for a chance to clean himself. Finding no other reason for all of them to remain so exposed, they all returned to the cave with him. At the back of the line, Balin glanced meaningfully at the wizard.

Gandalf explained in hushed tones, “You and I are both aware that your king will not handle being reminded of a second dragon well. We ought to let his injuries heal before he works himself up unncessarily.”

“We can’t keep it from him forever, Gandalf,” Balin muttered back.

“Nor would I ask you to. We only need to keep him in good enough spirits until we reach the next safehouse. After that, we can only hope that he does not disgrace himself before his host.”

“Of course, of course.”

The dwarves did not remain at the Carrock for long once their king had had a chance to clean himself up. The bruising wrapped around the entirety of his torso, but the punctures already seemed better for having spent the last few hours smeared with a healing ointment. Not infected at least. He struggled to raise his sword arm, the wounds ran deeper on that side, and the movement tugged more sharply at the tender skin there. Nothing he could not heal from, but it would make the next leg of their journey more dangerous to be so unable to defend himself.

Bilbo peered around the corner into the cave to check on the status of their king. The others had already crossed the path of stones that lead from the Carrock to the eastern side of the river. Kili and Fili had gone first to scout the way ahead for danger or to see what they could flush out for their next meal. Balin looked over a worn map, mumbling something to Ori at his side. He’d lost track of Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, who despite his size could move quite quickly when needed. Dori had gone off with Nori into the brush. Dwalin leaned back against the tall pillar of stone, looking to all the world nonchalant, but the tautness of the muscle at his neck betrayed his need to move. At least he smelled better than he had when the eagles had dropped them off at the top. Oin and Gloin sat under the shade of a nearby tree, repacking their bags after doing one final inventory.

Thorin seemed to be having difficulty getting his shirt over his head without straining his right arm. With a grunt and a muffled groan, he finally gave up and tossed it away from him. The lightness of the fabric meant that it didn’t get far. One of the sleeves landed just close enough to the water’s edge that it began to darken as the fibers pulled in the moisture. Muttering Khuzdul curses, he bent over to grab it, but silenced himself when smaller fingers beat him to it.

Blue eyes narrowed at the sight of the hobbit holding his shirt between both hands. As his gaze moved upwards, he took in the red flush that colored the hobbit’s cheeks.

“Er, um, your shirt,” Bilbo mumbled, nose twitching, and thrust the bundle of fabric towards the dwarf-king, returning his own gaze to the floor.

Thorin’s hands closed over the cloth, his fingers brushing against the hobbit’s and deepening the blush on the hobbit’s cheeks. He quite liked the look of it.

“Will you help me?” he asked, startling them both.

Bilbo’s eyes snapped up towards him, warm as honey, bright with shock. “I’m sorry?”

“I can’t get it on myself, my right arm is giving me more difficulty than I expected,” Thorin was quick to explain, wincing when he moved said arm.

When Bilbo took back the shirt, he made sure not to brush fingers again, but nodded feverishly, like the speed of it would help to reduce the blush that seemed to spread down his throat and to the tips of his ears. It was too much.

He worked in silence, struggling to calm his breathing as he placed his hands on the king. Bless Yavanna, the dwarf felt like a furnace under his palm. He sucked in a breath and slid the sleeve over Thorin’s right arm until it was bunched around his affected shoulder. It brought them much closer than he dared to like. Bilbo then brought the neck over Thorin’s head, thankful for the wide neck, but he still had to use a hand on the king’s head to guide it closer to the right shoulder to pull the cloth the rest of the way over. The black strands interwoven with silver were still damp but soft under his fingertips. Finally, the home stretch. Bilbo knew, and he was certain that the dwarf knew it too, that Thorin could have threaded his unaffected arm through the sleeve on his own, but they’d come this far, hadn’t they?

If Bilbo’s hand lingered on Thorin’s shoulders longer than necessary after smoothing out the wrinkles, then it was a secret they would both take to their graves.

Bilbo stepped back, but his heel caught a pebble on the cave floor and sent it tumbling into the water. The splash snapped whatever trance had fallen over them. Before Thorin could stop it, Bilbo turned away from him and disappeared into the daylight beyond the cave. Thorin left the laces at his neck undone but shrugged on his coat and joined his traveling companions without further delay.

As soon as Gandalf had counted all thirteen dwarves, they moved out. If nothing else, now that they were clean, perhaps the wargs would have a more difficult time following their trail.

* * *

* * *

The sun had already risen once more before the eagle found the anomaly in the woods that sprawled out beneath the cliff. Tirnalil had to have covered much of the distance separating the cliff from the Carrock before then, but exhaustion always took its toll during the first waking hours of the day. The trees grew too densely for the eagle land so it had to make the difficult decision of waking the creature below with its cries and leading it to someplace where it might be more easily accessible. Until then, it would be much slower going to rejoin the Company.

On tired, stumbling feet, she finally made it to a clearing large enough for the eagle to land. The blood had finally stopped leaking from the wound inflicted by the pale orc, but every step forced her to choke on her breath. She was beyond thirsty and desperately in need of a long rest, but she did not dare to stop lest she be caught. It stretched out a wing for her to climb onto its back and as gentle as it could, it took to the sky, careful not to jar her too badly. The little thing cradled its arm close to its side, but the eagle could not tell the severity of the injury. Tirnalil dropped to sleep the moment the eagle leveled out and began to cruise.

They flew through what light remained of the day until she warned it that nightfall was imminent. It found an open patch in the trees and dropped down to allow her to step down. She was grateful that it kept watch as her form changed. She was still too tired to offer anything a real fight. Satisfied she was able to stand on her own, it flew upwards again and screeched at her until she followed. The threat was far enough behind her that she could not even find the energy to move faster than a shambling walk. It took everything she had left simply just to focus on keeping her legs moving without getting caught up on roots and branches and whatever else meant to ensnare her.

After a long while, the stars became easier to see, the canopy thinning, and the eagle made a tight circle, once, twice, before singing its departure and soaring off the direction they’d just come from. She watched it absently before turning her head and startling at the sight of a house that looked more inviting than anything she’d ever seen before. A tall hedge surrounded dotted with flowers closed up against the cold. Beyond it, flowerbeds and rows and rows of fruit trees to either side. She merely had to cross the lush fields of grass that separated the trees from the hedges.

The door opened the moment she shuddered to a stop at the edge of the hedges. A bear of a man stood in the opening, so large he nearly filled the frame completely, most of his features washed out in the shadow, but his figure was massive, strongly muscled, his hair wild, and she would come no further without explicit permission. She dropped her head between her front legs and slowly, painstakingly lowered her front half into a bow, tucking her wounded right arm beneath her.

The skin-changer regarded her sagging form curiously before finally turned his back on her to pour cream into a large bowl he kept just inside the doorway. Barefooted he approached, using two hands to carry the massive wooden dish. It looked less like a drinking bowl and more like a hand washing bowl now that she had it in front of her.

He set it on the ground just inside the hedgerow and stepped back into the doorway. His eyes roved over her form, no doubt coming to a single conclusion, that she was no threat. “Drink.”

The dragon dipped its head to drink until the bowl was dry. Whatever herbs had been mixed into the cream left her immediately refreshed and sated, but more tired than before.

“You are a skin-changer, but not like my people,” he said finally, his voice slow and deep. It had an unmistakable calming quality to it. He stooped down to retrieve the bowl and gestured for her to follow as he walked around the side of the massive house. “Come now, you will sleep in the barn tonight. The wizard had told me he would pass through this way. Perhaps he can explain what you are when he arrives. For now, you must rest. No evil things are permitted to pass through my lands. You are safe here.”

With that, he shut her in the barn with all the other creatures that took refuge there and padded away.

She had lived for decades between the different Elven kingdoms, but she had never known the comfort of dry straw in a warm barn. She knew she had to look a sight, a white dragon large enough to practically fill the interior of the barn, rolling happily in the straw until all the other kind creatures taking refuge had awoken to stare. Though they stared, none were startled into flight. Apparently, having a master who transformed into a bear at will was enough to make the sight of a dragon little more than a blip in their regular routine.

She found a deep trough that was filled to the brim with clear, fresh water and drank until her belly was full. Content and secure, she curled her tail around her, tucked her head under her wing, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, he came into the barn again with a heavy cloak in hand, suited more to his height than hers, to cover herself before joining him for breakfast, though she still had her own cloak to hide behind. It felt wrong to refuse it though, and she was thankful for more protection against the cold. More of that strangely refreshing cream, butter, and the most beautifully baked bread, and she felt better than she had in weeks.

“Is there a reason a dragon is heading east and coming through my lands?” he asked gently and passed her another loaf of bread. “I had thought all the dragons that remained lingered only in the Withered Heath to the far north.”

Tirnalil’s eyebrows rose from where they’d been hidden behind the cover of the rim of a mug that required both hands to hold. Her voice was harsh from lack of use and from the roaring of the dragon during the previous two nights. She coughed to clear her throat before answering, “Mithrandir tells me this is where I must wait for him. I have heard some things, but it is not my place to make assumptions.”

“The wizard is your master?” the skin-changer hummed, gently stroking the head of the tall wire-haired hound that nosed its head beneath its master’s hand.

“No, I have no master. Mithrandir says I must meet these people. I was meant to meet them earlier, but the circumstances changed, and we were separated. If any good can come from this curse, if I can help someone because of it, then I will not stand idly by. I have done so for far too long already.”

“Well, to assist anyone, you must find rest as often as possible. You were weak when you entered my lands. I do not pretend to understand the nature of your curse, as you call it, but I cannot let you leave in the same state. You are welcome to stay as long as you need to reach your full strength. Is the little one you carry with you in need of aid? What of the wound to your arm?”

Tirnalil flinched at the mention of it. “No, it is a shadow I cannot be parted from. It is an extension of myself. My arm will recover with time. It is better than it was two nights ago.”

“And who are you? What are you called?”

“I was given the name Tirnalil by the Lady of the Golden Wood.”

The skin-changer stood and moved around the table, again filling the mug in front of Tirnalil with cream. He really was doing his honest best to make sure she wanted for nothing. “I am called Beorn. I must go now to patrol my lands. I have heard orcs and wolves in the night, and they cannot be permitted to come closer. If I am not back before nightfall, bar the doors. I will set aside clothing for you before I go. Now please, eat, rest.”

He showed her to a room with a bed large enough for at least five of her in her current form, asked one of his wire-haired hounds to stay with her, and left her there with an open invitation to eat as much as she liked. He appeared sporadically throughout the day to check in on her, switching out which dog remained behind to keep watch, but for the most part she was left alone, to regain her strength after either running or fighting for the last forty-eight or so hours. If the pot of fresh honey had been reduced to half its volume, he was glad for it.

The final time he entered the house, the hound greeted him at the door, yipped once, and trotted off to the barn, where Tirnalil had already curled up under her cloak to await the night.

“How are you feeling, little one?” Beorn asked, sitting down beside her. One of his ponies stretched its neck over its stall door to greet him. He stroked its nose absently but kept his eyes on Tirnalil.

“I am in your debt, surely, because I have scarcely found a place so restorative as this. I feel I am nearly back to my full strength now,” she admitted with a soft smile. She was still tired, but it was not the full-bodied exhaustion of the first night. Death by overexhaustion had been a near thing then, but she expected she would make a full recovery now. All the better to deal with Mithrandir for convincing her to join a quest that put her in such danger in the first place.

“I am pleased to hear it. I will leave you to your rest. I do not think the wizard will be much longer now, I will let him know you have arrived if I meet him first,” Beorn promised and patted her on the head as he rose. “Sleep well, little one.”

And then he was gone. She should have barred the doors, but truthfully, she simply had neither the energy nor the will to move, already comfortable under her cloak, nestled in the straw. She would have to trust Beorn to keep any visitors from disturbing her in the night.

The crash of no less than ten bodies against the front door of Beorn’s house was enough to startle the great beast, even from inside the barn, to full alertness, made worse when multiple fists began to beat against the wood. Pots and pans and ladles on a traveling pack rattled together without the least bit of concern for stealth. The voice of the wizard over the roar of the bear following them caused her to rise from her bed of straw. 

“What was that?” asked a thickly accented tongue, shaky with fear.

“That was our host.” That was Mithrandir.

“You knew about him? You would put us in the path of a skin-changer?” a different, less accented, but much harsher voice asked.

“Careful of the ire in your voice. Beorn is not the only skin-changer you will meet on this journey of yours, and the second will prove a great boon to our quest should you decide to accept it,” Mithrandir snapped at whichever dwarf made the comment against Beorn.

Finally, they must have gotten the door open, but not in time to shut it behind them without a fight. Tirnalil pressed the side of her head against the barn door and continued to listen. Eventually the bear grunted and huffed, then made his exit, leaves crunching underfoot as it reentered the forest. The din inside the main house quieted for some time, then rose again with some disagreement or another. There was a good deal more muttering and none of it useful except to confirm the groups’ mistrust for skin-changers, in spite of their lack of experience with them. Realizing it would not prove beneficial to stay awake to listen to them, she let sleep reclaim her. Sounded like a problem for future Tirnalil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write this primarily when I'm at work because I'm on week 4 now of having no phone (and like month 6 of having no car) so I gotta occupy myself somehow. Don't tell my boss.
> 
> I'm at over 50k words in drafts so I'm okay with this new lot in life, yknow. Can't complain too much. I'm going to try to update at least weekly, but we're getting closer to event season when I spend weekends away from home at my second job (playing secretary/photographer/course builder at dog sport events) so the actual update day may change as we get to that point.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! I hope you enjoyed it. As always, kudos and comments make me happy. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost in the woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have noticed, I've decided the final number of chapters will be 10.
> 
> Working titles for two chapters are "this is not the end" and "this is the end" and I don't know how I feel about that. Updates will be a little slow as I finish up the second half of the fic, but this is going better than I'd hoped. Nearly a hundred hits as I upload this latest chapter!

In the morning, Tirnalil found a pile of clothes folded into a neat pile just inside the door, all of them too large, but it was more than she had coming into the situation so it was already more than welcome. At some point in her desperate race following the eagle overhead, she had fallen and lost the contents of the sling around her neck. Given enough time and some thread, she could take them in for a better fit, but she would not refuse the gift. The lack of shoes, though not ideal, would not be so much of a hindrance now that they were over the mountains. It would not be her first time wandering through the Greenwood barefoot.

Once dressed, Tirnalil cautiously made her way up the path between the tall grasses to the house. An ear pressed to the door told her she was already too late to enter before the group awoke. It was too early to be so loud. She never should have left the company of elves, she thought to herself.

Just as she reached out a hand to enter, the door swung inwards. Beorn was just leaving, a sack of something under one arm, and held the door for her.

He smiled kindly down at her and ruffled her hair, mumbling in that slow, warm voice of his, “I understand, little one. I, too, have little fondness for the dwarves, but I have much more hate for the orcs. Have the wizard come for me once they have made their decision. I will be in the barn. Do not let them keep you from a proper meal.”

He patted her shoulder once more, and she fought to stay upright under the impact, and moved on down the path back the way she’d come.

She should not have worried about making any more raucous an entrance than the company of dwarves already had the night before. She stood for several moments in the doorway, draped in clothes that hung from her slight frame, thankfully obscuring the dragonling in its sling round her shoulder, and just watched as more figures than she could honestly keep track of ate breakfast with reckless abandon. No, she was certainly not in the company of elves anymore.

At some point, the wizard caught her eye, but at the same moment he opened his mouth to introduce her, a golden-haired dwarf rose from his seat and crashed into her, having neglected to watch where he was going in his rush to escape the round end of bread being tossed at his head by a black-haired dwarf who appeared roughly the same age. Incredibly warm hands seized her by the upper arms to keep her steady, but the exhaustion of the early hours still hung over her and his efforts, however noble, were not quite enough. Her knees buckled and a yelp escaped her lips as she dragged them both down. It was pure instinct that caused her to lean away from crushing the dragonling and instead force her to land half on the blonde dwarf and half on the floor.

She stared into his dark amber eyes for longer than was strictly necessary before her gaze shifted to the twin braids in the golden blonde hair of his mustache, to the dark brown leather of his coat beneath her hand. She pressed down as lightly as she could as she tried to scramble away. Her eyes widened. She knew the feel of a concealed weapon, though it was a bit harder to tell under leather than under the thinner silks and finery favored by the elves. A gloved hand caught her by the wrist when she rolled off of him.

After a muffling a laugh behind his hand, Gandalf suggested, “Well, my dear Fili, if you would be so kind as to help my friend to a seat, we might be better prepared to make introductions.”

The blonde, Fili, nodded and without ever once taking his eyes off her, pulled her to her feet, his hands warm over hers even through his gloves,  _ how was he so warm _ , and led her to the seat he’d just vacated, where now his brother, clearly the resemblance was there if disguised by the different hair color, gawked at her openly.

Without a seat of his own at the full table, Fili remained standing beside her, a blush on his cheeks. Tirnalil scooted as close to the edge of her seat as she could without falling to put some distance between them, although it put her closer to a rather old-looking dwarf with a prominent nose and a long white beard that split into two forks at its tip. He at least regarded her curiously but not with fear or distaste.

“I would like to introduce you all to Tirnalil,” Gandalf announced, clearly enunciating each syllable of her name, finishing with a smile. “You might say that if not for her efforts, this quest would have already been lost the night on the cliff.”

A little, child-faced dwarf dressed in a lovely but well worn cable-knit sweater, it was quite impossible for Tirnalil to determine its original color, who looked wholly out of place among his more armored compatriots piped up first, “You don’t mean to say─”

“Yes, Ori, that is exactly what I mean to say. You all owe her a great deal of thanks for battling the wargs until the eagles came. Now, she has come a long way to rejoin us if you all would be so kind as to introduce yourselves. You could not do better for a traveling companion,” Gandalf assured them with a nod in her direction.

The introductions were brief and stiff, and the instant they were over Tirnalil shrunk into her seat, wishing she could just slip away, but she was caught between Fili and his brother Kili. Balin, the old dwarf to her left, struggled to smile at her, but it fell short, halted by the glare of quite the tattooed and surly dwarf directly across from him, Dwalin. He was the only member of the company who seemed to prefer to keep his forearms bare, his sleeves pushed back to his elbows, but she was certain it was purely to make the steel, or iron, knuckles on his fists more apparent, lest anyone think to start a fight with him. It was her understanding that they were brothers. Their uncle, the dwarf-king Thorin, had maintained a deep frown since his nephew crashed into her in the doorway.

“You expect me to trust a dragon? Another skin-changer? I had thought our host was the last of his kind,” he spat viciously. “I accepted the hobbit by your request only because you swore that we could not succeed without him. You made no mention of a  _ dragon _ .”

It was not the first time the words had been said with such acidity, but for some reason she felt inexplicably hurt by it. The movement was nearly imperceptible, but the weight of a hand at her back, hidden from the others’ views, stayed her from flight. Above her, Fili’s expression had not changed from quiet resolve, but what little distance she’d managed to put between them, he had stepped close enough to close the gap. She turned back to the dwarf at the head of the table and wilted under the fire in those bright blue eyes. The dwarf was livid.

“Thorin, a fool you were once already when you refused to allow Elrond to read the moon runes, a fool you will be again if you deny the aid of a dragon now,” Gandalf’s thunderous voice boomed over the company, his shadow growing and darkening the room before rapidly shrinking down to normal. “Tirnalil is a friend, and it is out of the goodness of her heart that she has come this far at all. Although she is not like Beorn, she is not so different that you should accept aid from one but not the other. You have been hunted by the Pale Orc since you started this quest, and you will need all the aid you can get before we are done. Do you truly wish to turn her away? Should she not have intervened when Azog’s mount had you in its mouth?”

The hobbit further down the table made a strange strangled little noise at the mention of that particular aspect of that horrid, horrid night and hastily excused himself from the table and ultimately left the main house completely. Even with another seat now vacated, Fili remained at Tirnalil’s side. She risked a glance upwards and could not hide the blush when she made eye contact with the dwarf. No, he had no plans to leave her side just yet.

“Does she not speak for herself? Does she need a wizard to defend her?” Thorin’s voice was acid, his eyes sharp as knives as he stared her down, and she flinched at every word. “Tell me yourself why I should trust a dragon not to lead us to ruin.”

“I would not have come at all if Galadriel had not said that I would be needed. It is good to be needed, I think, rather than feared, as I often am. You cannot hate me more than I hate myself for what I am,” Tirnalil said after a long period of quiet, steeling herself to give breath to words she had never before spoken aloud. “But if this curse can be used for good, then I shall do it, I shall stand with you. I have no love for gold or for treasure. I would see your home returned to you, that is all.”

Dwalin chuckled and stamped his foot against the ground, his earlier frown replaced with a smirk. “Well, then, I’ll keep an eye on ya, but yer a welcome hand to me. We would not have lived that night without the eagles, much less without yer help.”

She hadn’t expected to find support from his corner, but she took it with a sheepish nod and shrank back into herself even as the rest of the party, save Thorin, mumbled their thanks and assent that she be permitted to tag along. The princeling at her back simply removed his hand and replaced it on the back of her chair.

“Then it’s decided,” the dwarf-king finally agreed, but with no less coldness. “As soon as we are ready, we move on. You will pull your own weight or you will be left behind.”

“Good, very good, I think I shall tell our host we will need another pony. Tirnalil, I know for a fact that Beorn has told you not to let our friends keep you from breakfast. Now eat,” Gandalf instructed with very little room for argument and shut the door behind him with a definite thunk that was meant to be loud enough to startle.

Tirnalil had never felt so sick before to have all eyes on her.

Thorin hardly waited for her to finish a loaf by herself, smothered in butter and the most delicious honey, before he started to herd everyone outside, out to the ponies saddled and laden with packs. Bilbo, their hobbit, was already outside, stroking the long face of one of those horses while feeding it an apple. He pointedly did not look to any of the company when they exited the house, save for Balin who asked if he was all right.

“Go now while you have the light,” Beorn bade them, taking special care to hoist Tirnalil onto the back of a little white mare with a single black streak in her mane. “The orcs are not far behind. Return the ponies when you reach the forest. They are ill-suited for that place.”

The company rode single-file across the grassy fields, protected from the roaming orcs by the giant bear at their back and to no small extent by the scent of dragon that hung around Tirnalil. The wargs that had survived their previous encounters with the beast no doubt had been left with a healthy fear of it, and though it would not be enough to keep them from attacking in broad daylight when she was at her weakest, it would be a boon in the night. Tirnalil would have kept herself further back in the train of ponies, if not for Gandalf’s insistence that she ride beside him, only Dwalin separating them from the king at the lead.

He tapped her shoulder with his staff and when she turned her eyes toward him, he flashed her a genuine smile. “I hope there will come a day when you do not look so glum, my good friend. Whether he recognizes it or not, he cannot succeed in his task without you. There are few who can keep to the path as well as an elf of the Woodland Realm.”

“Yes, but what if he does not listen?” Tirnalil frowned. “He has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t trust me.”

“Then you must keep your own head about you, I’m afraid, and hope that the elves find you before whatever else dwells in these woods does.”

Gandalf’s expression became even more sullen the closer they got to the edge of the woods, and Tirnalil’s grew in fear with every step until she was nearly grey from it. To say she dismounted gracefully would have been too kind. She practically fell from the pony’s back like a sack of grain and struggled to return the air to her lungs in great heaving gasps. Gandalf pulled her to her feet and held her to his chest until she got her breath back.

Around them, the dwarves began to remove the packs from their mounts and readjust the necessary straps to better fit themselves. The hobbit stood nearby, pacing up and down the edge of the trees, occasionally plucking a dead leaf for closer inspection.

“Gandalf, this place feels sick,” Bilbo said and wiped his hands on his trousers.

“Yes, there is a foul air about this place. The Woodland Realm is not as it once was, I’m afraid,” Gandalf answered and released Tirnalil so that he could take the first steps into the trees, stopping before the stone figure of an elf-maiden beside the stone path.

Someone moved to stand at her shoulder even as she fought to school her breathing, and she had a nagging feeling without looking that it was Fili again. Thorin’s blue eyes bored into hers when she dared to look ahead of her at the forest’s edge. With a huff, he turned from her and watched the wizard instead.

“Take my hand. Now. My uncle will leave you here if you do not stand.”

She was right, Fili. Tirnalil sucked in a breath, fighting back the nausea, and accepted the hand that was offered. Still dizzy from the toxin and the strange pull she’d thought she’d never have to feel again, she clutched his shoulder for longer than either she or Thorin really wanted. Finally, she parted from the dwarf princeling, both arms wrapped around her middle, eyes on the wizard. Fili stayed behind her shoulder, lest she fall again, and she couldn’t find the strength to resent him for it.

Gandalf stood frozen before the statue. He tore the dried vines away from it and noticeably flinched away from it. Whatever it was, Tirnalil could not read it herself. But she knew the look of Black Speech. He spun around on his heel, the base of his staff angrily clicking against the stones. He halted Nori’s work unsaddling the horse he’d borrowed from Beorn with a hand and a shout.

“The forest is filled with a dark magic that will seek to lure you away from the path and poison your mind. It will grow in strength for every step you take away from the path until you cannot even find yourself. Tirnalil is the only one of your company who can navigate these woods. You must trust her,Thorin, for I must depart. There is another task which I must complete.”

“That creature is not a member of my company,” Thorin snarled without hesitation, and Tirnalil shrank back at the vitriol in his voice, stopping when her retreat was halted by Fili at her back.

“Then you shall doom yourself,” Gandalf barked back but continued past the king to mount his horse once more. “Do not enter that mountain without me, Thorin, or I fear you will unleash a greater threat than any that has ever befallen the valley of Dale.”

The dwarf-king did not respond, and Gandalf pursed his lips, spurred his horse forward, and left the company to choose their fate, for good or for ill.

* * *

* * *

They lasted hardly more than two days before the whispering leaves obscured the path and lured them to shadow.

The company of Thorin Oakenshield was the company of fools, Tirnalil was sure of it. Despite several warnings and the multiple times she left their side to rediscover the Elven Road, none of them would listen to her. Gloin had insisted that what Gandalf meant by his comment that she was a skin-changer different from the manner than Beorn was, meant that she was a creature of a dark enchantment and not to be trusted. While she could not hold it wholly against them, for she was indeed born from black magic, she needed their trust if they ever hoped to see the Lonely Mountain.

Only Beorn and Gandalf understood the true severity of the danger they headed towards instead of listening to her. A sickness hung in the air that had been growing in strength, spreading farther and farther from where it began in the far south of the forest. Foul creatures made their home in it and pushed the elves farther North, to Thranduil’s fortress, but they would never make it there if they wouldn’t listen!

They were running out of time.

_ She  _ was running out of time.

“I can take you to the Old Forest Road, and it will be a short trip up the River Running to the Long Lake, from there not much further to Erebor itself. If we go north, we can cross the elf-path that will take us to Thranduil’s halls, but to reach it, we must cross the mountains of Mirkwood first. We do not have the luxury of time to take such a detour,” Tirnalil tried to argue during one of their midday breaks.

They’d lost the light some time ago to the thickness of the canopy overhead, only trickles of sunlight reached them down below, and they suffered for it. While dwarves were accustomed to being underground in the dark, they’d always made gratuitous use of torches and blazing fires. The darkness that surrounded them was suffocating.

“Silence! I will hear no more of your lies,” Thorin bellowed as he towered over her.

“Why can’t you trust me on this? What do I stand to gain from lying to you?” 

“I would sooner trust an elf than a dragon,” the king hissed and forced her back with a hand on her chest so that she stumbled over a gnarled root in the path they’d been following, the wrong path.

She grunted on the impact though the blow was softened by a thick layer of fallen leaves, but did not rise again until Thorin shouted to the company that they would be moving on. Grumbling under her breath, she forced herself to her hands and knees and finally to her feet. She combed her hair back from her face with her fingers, wincing when doing so pulled at the torn skin on her elbow. She cursed Thorin again, but after rolling up the bottoms of her overlarge, borrowed trousers and readjusting the sling around her shoulders, she followed after them. 

Every night, two dwarves were assigned to the watch at a time, one for the perimeter and one for the dragon, each given a shift, first, second, or third watch. The hobbit had the good fortune that he had never been assigned to watch over her. The first few nights she had passed off her assignment of a guard as mistrust, but the longer they strayed deeper into the forest, the less she felt it was unnecessary. The transitions between day and night were becoming more difficult, more painful, and more frightening. Her control was slipping, and she could hear the whispers in the dark every time she shut her eyes, calling her to the shadow, urging the dragon to seize control.

Each night was another chance to beg her guards that night to see reason.

Her efforts brought her very little hope as time went on. Neither Oin nor Gloin would have anything to do with her, Oin more than once setting aside his ear trumpet any time she so much as opened her mouth to speak. The Urs were slightly better in that they at least lacked outward hate for her the longer they spent in the forest. Bifur did not seem afraid of her in the least, though neither did Nori, but she suspected the Nori’s courage was brought on by the multitude of knives he’d made a point of sharpening in front of her the first time he’d been assigned to watch her. Bombur was easily startled by any movement on her part so she often woke sore under his watch from the sheer amount of effort it took to keep herself still. Ori, though he didn’t startle as easily, was in the same camp of being nervous so she took great care to slow her movements when he was on the watch. 

Balin, Bofur, and Kili, despite their interest in her, did not frequently offer conversation. When she had tried to entice the littlest prince to speak, he cleared his throat and in his best impression of a kingly voice, declared, “My king has declared that we are not to speak with you.”

If she had not been so desperate to escape the forest, she might have thought it endearing, cute even, but they did not have that luxury. So, instead, she huffed and turned her back to him for the remainder of the night.

The eldest of their company provided the best company of them all for all the times he kept watch over her; he seemed to be assigned to her watch more often than he was to the perimeter watch. He acted very much like the grandfather of every member of the company, and it filled her heart with a warmth that dulled her aches for the precious few hours they sat together. He spoke very little to her out of deference to his king, but if he slipped her a few dried scraps of whatever forest creature Kili managed to shoot down, they kept that knowledge to themselves.

His younger brother, Dwalin, despite his assurance that she was a welcome asset to their party, retained a healthy suspicion of her. As her own health worsened, she could not begrudge him for keeping an eye open and a hand on an axe.

One night the transformation took an extraordinarily heavy toll, and for several minutes after she lay sprawled across the mix of moist earth and dead leaves that she’d churned together in her desperate thrashes against the searing pain of her bones breaking and reforming. That night she didn’t care who watched, the fire lit up every nerve before the sun had completely set, and it was a panicked race against time to strip down under her cloak fast enough to preserve her last set of traveling clothes. She had fallen to her knees and covered her mouth with both hands, biting down on one fist to muffle the screams as it started.

Even after the change was complete, the pain never stopped. Every beat of her heart brought with it a new wave of pain. Every breath was another knife in the ribs, and she could only shut her eyes and pray for the next morning to come. 

That was coincidentally the first night Fili was rotated through the watch and assigned to her for the third watch, the last shift before morning. He let his eyes drift over her shuddering form, wincing in sympathy when a muscle seized and she buried her face in the leaves until it released again, jaws clenched against the rising need to howl from the sheer agony.

She paid him no mind when she heard him stand and move away. She missed the sound of him coming back until he had already stepped away from her head and returned to his seat. Her head rose a fraction of an inch from the ground to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

He pointed to the bowl he’d placed beside her. “There is dried kingsfoil in the broth, not as good as fresh, but it will help. Don’t tell Thorin I gave it to you.”

Weakly, she tried to lift her head fully to drink from the bowl, but each attempt locked her entire body with another muscle spasm. A whimper rattled in her throat.

Fili looked over his shoulder before he leapt over the fallen tree between them, kneeling down by her head with a hand outstretched but not yet ready to make contact. His fingers twitched and he frowned.

“You have to promise not to bite me,” he muttered, but patted his lap with both hands before reaching to pull the bowl towards him. “Come on. I’ve spent years nursing Kili back to health after eating mushrooms against Balin’s advice. I think I can spoon feed a dragon.”

She exhaled softly, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards when it made his hair flutter about his face, and inched her head onto his lap. She blinked slowly and breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of the kingsfoil. It smelled like the bright spray of water from the waterfalls of Imladris in the early winter mornings, clean and untainted by anything, pure and healing by the virtue of its untouched nature.

“I don’t bite,” she croaked at last.

“Good, that’s good,” he said and finally set a shaky hand on her face, gently running his fingertips over the scales there and continuing to the spiraling horns that jutted outwards from the back of her skull, to the smaller spines the framed her cheek.

It took the better part of an hour to empty the bowl between her near constant cramps, but finally Fili could set the bowl aside and scoot himself backwards so his back was supported against a tree. He kept stroking her cheek until the spasms stopped and she was able to take deep breaths without gritting her teeth. He looked down at her fondly and smiled.

“Do you feel any better?”

She hummed and shut her eyes.

“Good, then you can wake me just before dawn so I can pretend I’ve actually been keeping watch and not sleeping through it,” he joked in a whisper but settled further against the tree and crossed his arms to sleep.

It couldn’t have been comfortable so she nudged him with her nose until he got the point and crawled over her neck, sliding down the front of her shoulder until he was seated between her front legs. She covered him with her wing and drifted off to sleep. He would be much warmer there. It was the least she could do in thanks for the medicine.

If Balin winked at her the next morning when she unfurled her wing to reveal the princeling, then it was their secret to keep. 

* * *

* * *

While the dragon slept several nights later, on the other side of the dwarf camp sat the brothers Balin and Dwalin, although only the younger had been given the task of keeping the perimeter watch. Poor little Ori had been set to watch over the dragon, but Balin could no longer honestly believe the creature meant them any ill. He had seen it tailor its sleeping habits to each of the dwarves assigned to it. He knew how difficult it was to remain absolutely still as a corpse in one’s sleep, and indeed, he’d seen her struggle to keep up the day after she’d been watched by the easily startled Bombur.

When they came across a river of black water while skirting the foothills of a mountain range tucked within the forest, she had immediately raced away from the group after pleading with Dwalin not to allow anyone to come in contact with the water. It had seemed a simple enough request at the time, and despite Thorin’s glare that anyone but he should command a member of his company, Dwalin kept an eye on anyone who might be enticed to drink. She returned not long after and approached Kili, demanding his assistance with his bow. When the company accompanied the dragon and the dark-haired prince as they followed the river north, they were surprised to find a boat on the opposite shore. Between Fili’s efforts to throw out a rope to hook its bow and Kili’s skill with his arrows, they managed to draw it towards them.

Even after all of the dwarves had been ferried across, the last load consisting of Dwalin,Bombur, Tirnalil, and Bilbo, Thorin did not offer his gratitude for her knowledge of the woods, nor would he listen to her insistence that they follow the path on the other side of the river to the Elvenking’s halls. The others, however, nodded as they passed the dragon on the opposite shore, and she very nearly smiled simply for having the chance to help.

No, Balin could not hold onto the idea that she was a creature sent to lead them astray any longer. 

Most curious of all, he’d seen her invite the Crown Prince to sleep tucked beneath her wing. The morning that followed had been the first morning she appeared well rested since they entered the forest. He had not seen the same since.

“Brother, our pace suffers when the dragon sleeps poorly, does it not?” Balin ventured.

“Aye,” Dwalin grunted, eyes narrowing.

“I have noticed some things, brother, like the fact that she does not wake nearly so frequently when Fili is near.”

Dwalin snorted then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aye, but I ‘spect that’s due to the kingsfoil he’s been givin’ ‘er.”

The corners of Balin’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at the realization that Tirnalil and Fili’s early morning cuddling had not been as discreet as either of them had probably hoped. “So you saw it as well?”

“I said I would keep an eye on ‘er, did I not? Didn’t ‘spect I’d be keepin’ an eye on Fili at the same time.”

“Who else knows?” Balin asked, looking over his shoulder at his sleeping companions.

Dwalin did the same and chuckled again. “I ‘spect all of ‘em ‘ave seen it, some form or another. Can’t find one without the other in the daylight, can’t hardly find him farther than five feet from ‘er at night.”

“What do you think of it?”

“It’s good for ‘em both. Until Thorin forbids it, I won’t stop ‘em,” Dwalin said with a nod of finality.

Balin’s smile grew and his heart was filled with warmth. He clapped his brother on the shoulder as he stood. “Very good then. I shall leave you to your watch, brother.”

Once Balin had drifted back to sleep, Dwalin half-turned to look across the camp to where Ori fought to stay awake from his seat on a stump beside the dragon. Unlike with Fili, though the dragon cracked open an eye to peer at the little dwarf, she did not raise her wing in invitation. Whatever enticed her to cuddle with the Crown Prince did not extend to the other members of the company. Whatever it was that bound the two, he would not interfere unless his king asked it of him. For now, if nothing else, Fili’s companionship seemed to be the only thing that kept her moving during the day.

If he hadn’t witnessed the ferocity with which she’d fought the wargs at the cliff, Dwalin would not permit its weakness to continue now, would have urged his king to pick up their pace and leave it behind, but he had seen it. Gandalf and Beorn had both stressed that she had not slept for several days and nights following the events on the cliff but pushed herself to the edge of her endurance in order to help them. Doing so came with a price. She suffered for it now, but Dwalin felt something else was in play. She was fading, in spite of Fili’s assistance. 

If she broached the subject of leading the company herself again, he might be inclined to side with her. They needed to leave the forest sooner rather than later.

* * *

* * *

Another night found the Ris huddled together at the edge of the camp. Nori, who had been given the last watch over the dragon, had abandoned his post to sit beside his brother Dori, who sat for the perimeter watch, and cousin Ori, who had difficulty finding sleep. He threw a final glance over his shoulder at the sleeping behemoth and laughed to himself. How anyone could be afraid of that creature, he couldn’t rightly understand. Aside from its admittedly bold defense of them against the warg pack on the cliff, it appeared no stronger than a bunny once they entered the forest. He doubted it could even fend off the little scribe in its current state.

Dori took another bite of dried meat before holding it out to Ori first, then extending the offer to Nori. When it was refused, he mumbled around his mouthful, “I miss the feasts we had back in Ered Luin. I had thought they were small then, and perhaps they were, but we have had precious little to eat lately but scraps.”

“Do you think it’s the dragon, you know, scaring off the forest creatures? Kili’s our best hunter and he hasn’t flushed a single rabbit for days, weeks, even!” Ori whimpered.

Nori grunted his agreement. “I would not doubt that having a dragon with us has its downsides, but I cannot be the only one who has heard wargs in the night. It seems the night on the cliff has left them wary of coming too close.”

“I had hoped it was the forest playing tricks on us, brother,” Dori sighed. “As long as they keep back, I suppose I can forgive the beast for our lack of fresh game.”

“Shouldn’t you be keeping watch over it, Nori?” Ori asked as he twisted around to look at the dragon.

Nori shook his head, displacing some of his hair from his elaborate star-shaped style and voiced his concerns. “The dragon stopped being a threat to us the moment it set foot in the woods. It grows weaker with every passing night.”

“What do you think is causing it to decline?” Dori asked at the same time Ori muttered, “But I could have sworn it was doing better for a little while. She didn’t stumble half as much the day after Fili looked after it.”

Nori had to stifle his laughter by biting his fist. Oh, so Ori had noticed it as well! The company’s original thief, not to be confused with their burglar, had been awoken the morning after by the curious vibrations he felt in the earth beneath him. The dragon’s humming as it gently coaxed the dwarf prince awake and released him from the undoubtedly warm shelter of its wing just before dawn. Nori had ducked back under his blanket at the time to give them the benefit of the doubt, but for the remainder of the day, just as Ori had seen, Tirnalil seemed better able to keep pace without tripping over her own feet, her own quite bare feet.

“You’ve noticed too?” Nori finally gasped between wheezes of quiet laughter.

“Well, yes, as is my duty as a scribe, I’ve been watching everyone closely so that I might record the day’s events in my logbook for future reflection. They seem to have grown rather close, don’t you think?”

“If they have, I don’t like it,” Dori groused. Nori jabbed his elbow into his brother’s side. “What? Am I wrong to not like it? He’s a prince! He’s of Durin’s line! And she’s a- she’s a  _ dragon _ . There is no good that can come from it, I swear.”

“Oh, you worry too much. Who’s to say anything even will come of it?” Nori chuckled and shrugged before clapping his brother and his cousin on their shoulders and standing. “Well, it’s been a nice chat, quite enlightening, but I, at least, will be getting a quick bit of shut-eye in before dawn. Good night.”

He threw himself down amongst the leaves, back to a tree, near enough to Tirnalil to feel the body heat radiating from her, and settled down for what rest he could find before they would be forced to move on. He had long ago stopped considering the dragon a threat and more a better heat source than the weak fire at the center of their camp. So what if anything did come from Fili becoming friends with the dragon? What harm could it do? The night on the cliffside had proved well enough how fiercely she could defend perfect strangers. How much more fiercely would she fight to protect someone she called friend? Or lover?

So, no, Nori would not question whatever was developing between dwarf and dragon. Not unless it went the other way and turned the dragon against them, but Fili was not that kind of dwarf. He had always been more jeweller than weaponsmith. Nori found sleep easily, at peace with his faith in the dragon’s allegiance and basking in its warmth.

* * *

* * *

Daylight, though very little of it penetrated the dense cover of the canopy, found Tirnalil fighting to remain upright between her bare feet and the mental fog that drowned her senses. Every so often, she would stumble and fall, ending up in a misshapen heap of limbs in the dirt. She would lie there until the sound of the dwarves reached the edge of her hearing, at which point she would force herself to rush after them. With her senses growing duller the longer they spent lost in the woods, she had less and less time to recover from her falls before she had to run again. She dreaded the thought of being left behind, but Thorin had been very clear from the getgo that they would not wait for her.

After a particularly bad fall that left her at the bottom of a shallow ditch to the side of the path they were currently following, she groaned but could not will herself to move any more than rolling onto her side. She watched the train of dwarves disappear from view around a tree and shut her eyes. So this was the end of her road.

The thud of boots only inches from her face startled her, and she ducked her head against her knees, folding herself into a ball.

“Come on, before we lose them,” Fili’s voice urged her, so close to her ear.

When she opened her eyes, she found him squatting beside her, a tired smile on his face. She nodded weakly and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Just as before in Beorn’s house, her dizziness hadn’t broken and her legs buckled under her weight. However, unlike at Beorn’s house, Fili came prepared and planted his feet to better withstand the weight shift until she could stand on her own.

“Here, I’ll give you a boost. Do you think you’re strong enough to give me an arm up?” he asked as he intertwined his fingers in front of him to make a stepping platform.

Tirnalil frowned and offered, “I can try, but I will not promise you anything.”

“I’ll toss you a rope once you’re up then. Quickly now.”

He hurled her up the slope so quickly that Tirnalil nearly fell back down before her hands found roots to grasp and haul herself up the rest of the way. Still on her knees, she turned and stretched her arm towards him. He tossed her a length of rope from his back, rougher than it would have been if it had been of elvish make, but Tirnalil supposed it was better than nothing. She looped it around the nearest tree and leaned her full weight against it.

“You should be alright to climb now,” she shouted over the edge of the ravine. The tugging on the rope that followed was a good sign that he’d heard her. She didn’t have to wait long before Fili reappeared in front of her. “Thank you for helping me out of there.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we still have to catch up to the others,” he reminded her.

Her heart just about stopped when he grabbed her hand and began leading her through the trees. She wondered if all dwarves ran so hot. His hand over hers was a comfort in the shadows, and she found herself hoping that she might be able to enjoy it a little longer.

In the end, it hadn’t been difficult to find the rest of the Company, who despite Thorin’s insistence that they not wait up for her, had paused when they noticed Fili had gone missing. Thorin could have killed his nephew for making him worry as he had, but Kili beat him to the eldest prince, engulfing him in a bone-crushing hug. Tirnalil stood a little ways away, hugging her sling to her chest. As soon as Kili released his brother, Thorin ordered that they continue moving and made some gesture to Dwalin, who kept a much closer watch on the dragon until they made camp for the night.

Kili set out his bedroll beside Fili, as he always did, but cocked his head when he realized how close they were to the dragon. Dwalin had been given the first watch over her tonight. Fili was already tucked in for the night, though his eyes lingered on the dragon for another moment before he rolled over to address the questioning look on his brother’s face.

“Whatever you want to ask, out with it,” Fili whispered once he was certain Dwalin’s attention was fully focused on the sleeping dragon.

“Do you like her?” Kili asked in a quiet voice. For once in his life, he actually seemed capable of keeping his voice down.

Fili looked up towards the stars he couldn’t see yet knew were there. “I don’t know if I would say that, but I am not afraid of her. I do know that trust her.”

“You like her,” Kili snorted. 

“I do not,” Fili hissed under his breath. “I just- I just think we ought to be treating her better than we have. She saved our lives on the cliff. She saved Uncle. We are in her debt.”

“Is that why you’ve been sneaking her stew?” Kili asked without humor in his voice, only honest curiosity.

“She has done nothing but help us when it has been in her power to do so. Uncle sees her now only as a weakness and a liability, but she just needs time, time and to be away from the forest. We must start to trust her, there is a darkness in these woods. I don’t want to find out what it will do to her if we do not escape it before long.”

Kili’s amusement dried up and his lips lost the curl of his smile. “She has my trust, but Uncle will be harder to convince.”

“I know,” Fili whispered into the night air.

There was precious little that could be done to heal the hurts left between dragons and dwarves, as indeed precious few of those dragons had done anything more than slaughter their people in centuries past. All they brought was death and destruction. How could they ask their uncle to set aside old hurts and see this dragon for the human, if that’s what it was, in the daytime? Small, unassuming, and growing ever weaker, Tirnalil had not been a threat to their quest for many nights. If only Thorin could see it.

Right before Fili drifted off into sleep, Kili whispered again, “Uncle will leave her if she falls behind, but he will wait for you.”

Fili laughed silently, a smile lingering on his lips even when he calmed back down. “I know, brother.”

With one last glance over at Tirnalil, Fili allowed sleep to claim him.

* * *

* * *

Even though hobbits were notorious for their hardy feet, lage and hairy and capable of traversing even some of the roughest terrain with no complaint, Bilbo had grown quite tired of navigating his feet around the twisted roots that seemed to spring up from nowhere. He’d wanted to keep an eye on the shadows in the forest, but lately he’d needed all his attention on the ground lest he end up face first in the dirt once again. He sorely missed his handkerchief. He had to make do with his coat sleeve to wipe the mess of cobwebs and squashed mushrooms from his face.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes searching for the only other member of the company who seemed to be struggling to stay upright. Tirnalil hadn’t looked well when they first entered the forest and now looked far worse. To his knowledge, the dwarves hadn’t laid a finger on her, but numerous scratches and scrapes appeared wherever her skin was exposed, her cheeks streaked with mud. She had to have fallen several times to be so covered in filth.

He found himself looking after her several times over the next hours, lest she drop off suddenly from their tail with no one to see it.

When they made camp, Bilbo still kept an eye on her, but with the Company stopped, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one who watched her slip away from them. Fili damn near dropped his armful of sticks for the fire when he walked into Kili’s back, so distracted by Tirnalil’s departure. Yet no one followed. It had been her custom to walk several paces beyond the edge of the camp but near enough to see the light of the fire at its center. After night had fallen and the shadows became all consuming, she reappeared, a white specter sneaking through the trees with carefully hushed footfalls. The dragon would spin roughly three times in a tight circle before tucking its head beneath its wing to put itself to sleep.

It never asked to eat with them. The spare bowl always sat unused and empty by the large pot. It nearly always ran empty anyway.

At some point during the night, Bilbo couldn’t feign sleep any longer. He pushed his way free of his bedroll and made his way over to the cooled pot. Cold stew would be of little comfort, but food was food. He’d just scraped the last of what could be salvaged into the empty bowl when the hairs rose on the back of his neck.

He gulped but did not turn around.

“Having another of your hobbitish mealtimes?” asked the deep rumble of the dwarf-king’s voice.

“Um, no, it’s for Tirnalil actually,” Bilbo rushed through the words.

Any warmth there had been in the king’s blue eyes now turned to ice. When Bilbo met his gaze, he flinched back. “I would not have you waste our provisions on that  _ demon _ .”

“She’s not a demon, Thorin. She’s just trying to help, she helped us cross that river, didn’t she?”

Thorin blew out a long breath through his nostrils and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Leave her the bowl.”

Bilbo scrambled over the sleeping figures of the dwarves sprawled across the forest floor and placed the bowl on a rock near Tirnalil’s shoulder so that she might smell it and eat before dawn. When he turned away from her to return to his bedroll, he nearly jumped out of his skin to find Thorin directly behind him.

“Bilbo,” the king started slowly, “what happened at the Carrock, I do not believe I thanked you for your assistance.”

The hobbit flushed a bright red, thankful for the cover of darkness. He looked up at Thorin’s face, but silhouetted against the firelight, he could make out nothing of the dwarf’s expression.

“It was nothing, happy to be of service,” Bilbo squeaked. 

“Nevertheless, I am grateful for it. Now, let me take you back to your bedroll. You need your rest. I have seen you stumbling on the path. We cannot risk hobbling our burglar while we are still so far from Erebor.”

“I can make it back the ten steps or so fine by myself.”

“Are you certain of that?” Thorin’s voice was a whisper as the featherlight touch caress of fingers traced the edges of the scrapes across Bilbo’s cheekbone from his worst fall that day. He could not hide the hitch in his breath. “Let me do this.”

Bilbo nodded mutely and let Thorin lead the way back through the mishmash of sleeping dwarves. He had not really needed the assistance, but he appreciated the company. It was a welcome change to the frustrated king that snapped at any who dared to ask if he knew where they were going during the day. This king was much gentler and kinder.

“Good night, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered as he settled back under his blanket.

“Good night, Master Baggins.” Then he returned to his post by the dragon, his back to a tree and his eyes fixed on the beast.

The king fought to keep his eyes open to complete his watch, but he must have blinked for too long because when he next opened his eyes, it was to find the dragon gone from its spot. In its place, Tirnalil lay with the hood of her cloak pulled tight around her face. The bowl Bilbo had scraped together for her sat untouched on the rock beside her. With a grunt, he stood and snatched up the bowl.

It would not do to let it go to waste.

“Eat,” he barked at her.

Tirnalil curled into a tighter ball instead.

“Fine. Starve. I would be glad to be rid of you.”

When he turned back away from her and towards the camp, Bilbo was already up, hair still unruly from sleep, but his face set in a frown. Clearly he’d seen the exchange if it could be called such.

He ran a hand across his face and squatted in front of Tirnalil, reaching out a hand to tap her on the shoulder. “Please. Eat. We will wait for you to finish before we leave. We can wait no longer than that.”

Bilbo’s frown lessened when Thorin next looked for the hobbit, but still, Tirnalil did not move until he was well away from her. Indeed, she hardly moved at all, even though the rest of the dwarves were making good headway on readying themselves to move. Fili and Kili watched her intently, not the least bit worried about hiding their concern for the dragon from their uncle. Fili nearly gave up all pretense of checking the straps of his pack when Tirnalil finally crawled over to the bowl and shakily began to eat. Bilbo felt the tension in the group break in an instant. Seemed like they’d all been on pins and needles.

Tirnalil, even though she’d had a meal, showed little improvement on that day’s trek. If she fell less often, it was more due to the dwarves catching her than her own awareness of her environment. While Bilbo kept pace beside their leader, he could not stop looking back at the stumbling dragon at their tail and the dwarves that rotated to watch her more closely by some silent agreement amongst themselves. Even Gloin caught her by the scruff and hoisted her over a tree fallen across their path when she swayed too much just staring at it, trying to convince herself to climb over it.

“Thank you, Thorin, for letting her eat this morning.”

“I did not do it for her,” Thorin grunted back, clearing the way forward through the webs with his sword.

“All the same, you didn’t have to wait at all, so thank you.”

Thorin didn’t reply to that, instead, he only hacked at the foliage and spiderwebs more viciously.

“You know, I really think we ought to listen to her,” Bilbo suggested, twiddling his thumbs behind his back.

“I cannot trust her. She is a dragon.”

“Whether or not you can trust her, you should. At least for this. The forest is sick, and it’s making her sick. I even think it’s making us sick. You can go back to hating her as soon as we are out of this accursed forest, but I for one would really like to leave before we find out what’s been making these webs.”

When the king turned his blue eyes on the hobbit, they were like ice.

“I would not trust that creature, not if my life depended on it.”

Bilbo stomped his feet and bit the inside of his cheek while he watched the dwarf continue to force his way through the spiderwebs that quite honestly were getting thicker and thicker the farther they went in whatever direction they’d been going. He let the company go past until only Tirnalil and Fili were left. Of course, trust them to be close to each other. He cast a wary eye on the dragon before stepping in line with Fili.

“Your uncle is going mad, Fili. He won’t listen to reason,” Bilbo whispered urgently. “We can’t keep wandering about like this. We need a plan. Do you trust her?”

Fili leaned in close to the hobbit and nodded sharply. “Yes. She only wants to help us.”

“Then, I think we listen to her. Convince Thorin it’s our idea. We need to get out of here. She’s only gotten worse.”

“I know. Give me a second. I’ll let you know what she says,” Fili told the hobbit, but before he could even half-turn away from him, the voice of his uncle boomed over the company. He flinched and faced their king. “Yes, uncle?”

Thorin beckoned him to his side at the head of the company with a hand. Fili hadn’t even noticed they’d slowed down at all. He didn’t risk looking over his shoulder for Tirnalil before he jogged up the line of dwarves to reach his uncle.

“I have seen the way you act around the dragon, Fili. It stops now. You do not understand their magic. They are foul, manipulative creatures. From now on, until we escape this place, you are not to speak with it. Am I understood?” Thorin’s voice was harsh, unforgiving. The look in his eyes was sharp and Fili wilted under it.

Every fiber of his body gravitated towards the dragon, and he wanted nothing more than to make certain Tirnalil was still with them. He didn’t move. He just nodded. “Yes, uncle, understood.”

Thorin grunted and waved his hand again to dismiss his nephew. Fili immediately found the hobbit amidst the throng of dwarves, his clean, unbearded face like a beacon. His sorrow had to be obvious on his face because Bilbo squeezed his upper arm once before patting the stone beside him.

“He’s forbidden me from speaking with her, so I suppose it’s up to you to get us out, Master Baggins,” Fili admitted and forced out a long breath from his lungs. He pulled out one of his knives and began to twirl it absently between his fingertips, not noticing Bilbo scoot just an inch away.

“I suppose it is,” Bilbo mumbled, eyes locked on the dragon sitting with her back propped against a tree, dark eyes screwed shut in pain or in determination. She really did look awful, and Bilbo could only hope that they could find a way out in time.

* * *

* * *

The nights continued in much the same pattern of searing pain and a total inability to move due to the severity of it, but Tirnalil did not get lucky again to have Fili assigned to her for the next several nights. A bowl of broth did, however, appear nearby in the pre-dawn hours that made transitioning back to her daylight form a little bit easier. During the day she remained at the back of the train of dwarves with only Dwalin behind her, Fili directly in front. She did not have to look past the long line of dwarves ahead to know that they’d lost whatever semblance of the trail that they had mistakenly been following. They had moved from simple darkness to a part of the forest that struck fear in every part of her. Silver webs stretched between the trees and overhead, reducing what little light they had to see by even further.

Aggravated and driven by the ever present pain in her bones, she shoved her way to the front and forced the king to turn around to look at her face to face, her grip on his shoulder trembling but steadfast when he looked between her hand and back to her eyes.

“Release me at once,” he growled low in his throat, a hand brushing the pommel of the sword at his hip.

She most certainly did not. Her hold on him tightened instead.

“Trust me, I have lived in these woods for many years, let me take you back to the path. The path is safe, protected, and the air is cleaner there. Please, we cannot stay here, we are only going deeper into the poison,” Tirnalil pleaded with the dwarf-king. 

They’d had their last chance at following the elf-path ages ago when she saved them from an enchanted slumber at the river, and despite her protestations, she had only been met with scorn and knives, axes, warhammers, whatever other form of weapon they had pointed at her from various members of the company, until the threats were dropped and exchanged for eyerolls. For a time there, she could have sworn their hearts had been changing, that they’d started to trust her more and fear her less. Between Balin and Fili sneaking her scraps or broth, it had started out slow, but eventually even Bombur had come around. Instead of leaving a bowl and ladle by the pot when they stopped for the night, he’d actually poured out a bowl for her and brought it directly to her. That day had been particularly difficult, and it had taken every ounce of her remaining strength to keep up. She’d had no energy left to feed herself. She’d thought they were making progress.

What hurt the most was Fili’s sudden change in behavior around her. Where before Tirnalil could count on him to be nearby even if another dwarf had taken up position at the back of the line, he now marched directly behind his uncle. The nights were more difficult without him near enough to see without lifting her head. The dwarves had gotten twitchy in the dark, and she didn’t want to wait and see what they would do if she moved in her sleep. Which meant she achieved very little actual restful sleep. A bowl still appeared in the mornings, but that was the only thing that remained the same.

The growing darkness and the poison that followed slowed the movements of every member of the company and filled their minds with suspicion and doubt, if not for her, for their leader. Whatever trust she’d built up between the members of Thorin’s company was still too weak to withstand the poison. They didn’t know who they needed to defend themselves from so they stopped raising weapons against her when she spoke out, opting instead for a sneer or outright ignorance, and Tirnalil could not tell if she should rejoice for that development. Whatever progress she’d made with the dwarves, she’d lost.

“You say you would lead us out, but you would sooner lead us to our deaths, be it by the elves or by whatever wicked creatures haunt these woods,” Thorin shouted and raised his hand as if to strike her, wrenching his arm free of her grasp all at once. It was Bilbo tugging at his coat sleeve that halted his motion. He looked chastised for all of a heartbeat, then spit at the ground by her feet, and continued to force his way through the diseased undergrowth. At least he hadn’t shoved her again.

“Please, it will be worse if we continue on this way. Can’t you feel it?” she whimpered though her whines fell on deaf ears.

Balin and Fili paused but said nothing and continued after their king, eyes blank save for a minute flicker of recognition. No one else stopped.

None save for the hobbit. He watched her for a moment, twitched his little nose, and approached her with a hand near but not on his sword. He didn’t trust her either, not completely, but at least he appeared to want to listen to her.

“What do you know?” he asked, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. “He’s too pig-headed, and this  _ poison _ , whatever it is, has made him worse, we’ll never be able to convince him to follow you, but at the very least, I should like to know of any danger ahead so that we may avoid the worst of it.”

“The further from the path we go, the deeper we go into the spiders’ territory. If he will not allow me to lead, will he listen to you? If we hurry, we can still climb above the canopy without being caught. We could at least reorient ourselves.”

“Oh, yes, Tooks are remarkable at climbing trees. I’ll just be a moment,” Bilbo declared and began climbing the nearest, unfortunately cobweb-covered, tree.

Tirnalil planted herself at its based, her eyes flicking back and forth between the dwarves, who had descended into some squabble over some unknown slight and the hobbit rapidly disappearing from her sight, his form obscured by the thin gossamer strands that covered nearly every branch in this part of the woods. Every hair on the back of her neck rose, and she narrowed her eyes at the darkness, struggling to see what had her on edge.

Several pairs of eyes flashed in the distance, but they were moving closer with monstrous haste.

“Bilbo! Bilbo! We’re too late, they’ve come! They are here!”

She had no weapons on her person, she could not hope to prevail against the giant arachnids coming towards them. More than ever before, Tirnalil cursed the name of the wizard for sending her on such a quest with no opportunity to arm herself. She caught Dwalin as he reached back a fist to strike at whatever dwarf had angered him because of course in the short amount of time it had taken to send Bilbo up above the trees, the Company had descended into pure chaos, and spun him to face the spiders instead.

He sobered up immediately as if he’d never been affected by the forest, calling his kin to arms and forming a tight circle, weapons out. Tirnalil had not been included. She darted away in search of better cover to protect the vulnerable half of herself, the sleeping dragonling strapped to her back.

They could protect each other, surely, they were dwarves.

Praying to the Valar, she hoped Bilbo had better luck in the canopy and wedged herself between two roots. She could only hope that she would be lucky enough to escape the spiders if the dwarves failed. She would be better matched against them in her dragon’s form, but that was hours away still.Tears pricked at her eyes, and she thumped her head against the trunk to keep them back. Now was not the time to let the fear overtake her, but Valar be damned, she did not want to die in Mirkwood.

Tirnalil wished she could drown out the sound of the dwarves fighting with the spiders, but soon the angry shouts turned to frightened ones, until finally all their voices were silenced and only the clicks and hisses of the spiders remained. She peered hesitantly over the edge of the root she’d hidden herself behind, just in time to see the last of the spiders hauling a body wrapped in silk back the way they’d come. Another moment she allowed to pass before she took off after them. Hopefully they could forgive her for hiding, but surely one survivor on the outside was better than them all being caught and doomed to becoming a spider’s supper.

Suddenly, the hobbit appeared out of thin air and struck down no less than two spiders in short succession. She simply gaped at him, and he kept hacking away until he freed the dwarves from their silken trappings, and did her level best to stay out of the way. As the only one not trusted with a weapon, she skirted around the edges of the fight and tucked herself behind a tree. Not her best plan because before long one of the spiders spotted her from above and began to descend, but its advance was abruptly halted when a dagger buried itself in its head. Its legs curled up under its body as the last of its breath escaped its body in a hiss. She looked into the fray and found Fili fighting back to back with his brother. He nodded towards her stiffly and refocused his attention on the enemy in front of him.

She wrenched the dagger from between the spider’s eyes and joined the fight where she could, making small slashes to distract the spiders long enough for someone else to deal the final blow. That was when she heard it, the sound of bow strings being drawn right before arrows whistled in the air. The elves had found them. They would be saved.

When the Elves came upon the sound of dwarves and spiders, only ages of practice kept their faces schooled and void of emotion. Their eyes, however, twinkled with mischief and poorly concealed mirth, especially when they spotted the little one that did not quite belong.

Although the Lady of the Golden Wood had professed she could see the dragon was never meant to remain in Mirkwood, they were glad to find that her words had not meant it was prohibited from revisiting Mirkwood.

Tirnalil paused for a moment, spinning on her heel to try to pick out the two elves she wanted to see more than anything from the unusually large scouting party. Certainly, the circumstances had become more dire since her departure for Imladris to warrant such a large group.

“Fili! Fili!” those were Kili’s screams for aid, but before any of the company could escape the ring of elves that surrounded them to go to his aid, another elf shot the first two spiders that had him cornered before she let a long knife fly to find its mark in the mouth of the last.

Tauriel. Tirnalil pushed her way past the dwarves and rushed to the elf-maiden’s side the very instant the threat was neutralized.

The redhead smiled at her, using a finger to wipe dried blood from Tirnalil’s cheek, exposing a shallow wound. 

“You’ve gotten slow,” she teased and used a hand at Tirnalil’s back and the tip of her bow to herd her and Kili back to the Company where Legolas stood and ordered the dwarves to be searched and relieved of their weapons. Whichever elf had been tasked with removing weapons from Fili found themselves still at work even after all the others had finished. The dwarf prince was a walking armory of concealed knives. There were grumbles in protest from the others, but Fili was merely glad that his brother had not been felled by the spiders after all. They immediately embraced and checked the other for injury. Tirnalil stepped away and approached Legolas.

" _ Mae govannen _ ," Legolas greeted Tirnalil warmly and gathered her into a hug while his men worked.

She hugged him back before pulling away. "Does your King know of my presence?" 

"My father Saw that you were traveling, but little else. His mind is focused on the shadow that creeps on our borders, but do not despair. He will rejoice to have you in our halls again as will many of my kin. Your return shall be celebrated with a feast."

Tirnalil nodded and looked about the group of Elves guarding the dwarves at arrowpoint. “What will happen to them?”

"That is up to my father, but I can speak to him before taking their leader inside. Now what is it that brings you through our lands and so far off the path? Surely, you would not have gotten lost so easily after your time here."

"They do not trust me. They would not listen when I tried to take them back to the Elven Road.”

Legolas sighed, shaking his head. “You can always trust a dwarf to look upon any aid with suspicion. They would walk off a cliff before you could convince them of the danger. Now come. We have a way to go before we reach the palace, and you are barefoot.”

He signaled to his men to follow, maintaining a tight ring around the dwarves who were no less surly for having been brought back to their own minds, the adrenaline from the fight clearing their eyes for the first time in weeks. Together, he and Tauriel led the entire party from the deep shadow into the light, finally returning to the stones of the Elven Road, and for the first time Tirnalil could breathe. Feet sore from their time off the path, she stood for a moment to relish the feel of the cool stone underfoot, easing the hurt, before she jogged up to walk in between her friends.

Behind the trio, the dwarves huddled tightly together, conversing in Khuzdul.

" _ What were they talking about? I can't understand a lick of that damn tree-hugger language _ ," Gloin huffed, swatting away an arrowpoint only to have it thrust even more closely to the point of his nose. He growled at it, but did not strike it again. “ _ The beast must have told them a great number of lies about us. I won’t wager that we’ll find any hospitality wherever we’re headed _ .”

When the elves herded them together after driving off the spiders, the dwarves were surprised to find the Hobbit missing from their ranks as well as the shape-shifter. A quick glance found the creature standing beside the elf captain, speaking in Sindarin, but they had no such luck locating their Hobbit.

" _ We never should have let Gandalf saddle us with that demon. It's ill luck, it is _ ,” Oin agreed with his brother, shaking out debris that had gathered in his ear trumpet during the fight with the spiders. Beside him, Bombur and Dori nodded sagely.

From ahead of them, Fili muttered heatedly, " _ She is the only reason we survived the night on the cliff. We would have been killed by wargs a dozen times over if not for her. _ ”

" _ But Thorin almost died anyway _ ,” Ori reminded them, his voice small as ever.

“ _ Enough _ ,” Thorin hissed to put a stop to the infighting. He didn’t need the reminder any more than they did. “ _ We shall discover soon enough where the beast’s loyalty lies _ .”

As if she could understand them, Tirnalil turned to look at them over her shoulder, head cocked, but when no one spoke again, she returned her attention to the she-elf at her right, appearing a great deal more at ease than she had since they entered the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far. As always, kudos and comments make my heart happy. I hope I've made you happy. Because I'm afraid it gets worse from here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally have those heart-to-hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm out of town for the weekend for an event so heyyyyy early post, but I need to publish before I keep reworking it and never upload at all.

Despite Tirnalil’s attempt to speak with Thorin, at which point he’d screamed what she assumed were profanities in Khuzdul and blamed her for being caught by the elves, and Legolas’s similar attempt with Thranduil, no amount of their interference could ease the tempers of either king when at last they met face to face in the throne room. Tirnalil couldn’t understand the pride of dwarves. They had been given food, water, and time to rest in one of the smaller dining halls while their king without a mountain met with the Elvenking, and they still regarded her and the elves with suspicion, making a point to sniff every cup and every food item on the table before consuming it with gusto.

Tauriel had not left her side since entering the fortress, said she was making up for lost time, although Tirnalil suspected it was at least in part because it meant she could be forced to eat. The pair of them sat on the steps of the dining hall without speaking. Tirnalil picked at the bread and took only small bites.

Once she was finished,Tauriel seized the chance. “Why must you be found accompanying dwarves of all things the first time you return to the Woodland Realm? You could have visited sooner, or did you think you were not missed?”

“Why we are here is not my story to tell. As for your second question, Galadriel made Lord Elrond swear that I would not leave the valley until the threat in Mirkwood had been eliminated. Imagine my surprise to find it’s gotten worse,” Tirnalil retorted, shoving the she-elf with her shoulder.

Tauriel actually appeared guilty. “We do not know what is behind the poison, and you’re right, it is worse, but our King has forbidden us from going further south even to seek it out. We have been ordered to protect our borders and the road, we are to go no further. Already, we have abandoned the old road. Only the elf-path is under our protection now.”

Tirnalil’s expression darkened. “How can Thranduil allow the poison to spread? He knows what it does to me.”

“I have asked myself that very question more times than you can count, but our King does not budge from his stance. I fear nothing can move him to action.”

“Can I not speak with him? If I can make him understand how desperate the situation is, perhaps we will change his mind. I could feel it changing me every night we spent off the path, Tauriel, and I was so frightened that I was not in my right mind. I do not dare to think what I might do if I lost control.”

Tauriel wrapped her arms tightly around her friend before the tears began to fall from her eyes, stroking her hair, and daring any of the dwarves to speak on it. She shushed the sobbing dragon like a mother to a child, and that was how Legolas found them to report that Thorin had, thus far, managed to insult their king no less than four times since his arrival to the throne room and as a result, the entire company would be imprisoned until such time that Thranduil decided to release them. The elf rolled his eyes at the dwarf’s antics and put an end to the feasting of the rest of the company as the rest of his party entered the room.

Neither Tirnalil nor Tauriel followed him to escort the dwarves to where they would be held. Legolas returned shortly after with a tall glass of clear water and a smaller vial of reddish syrup. He took one knee beside the dragon and pressed both into her hands.

“Drink all of it. You are tired and in great need of rest. You have come a long way from Lord Elrond’s lands, and my heart hurts to see you in this state,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, Legolas,” she whispered and knocked back the vial’s contents and the water shortly after with several large gulps. “I missed you too.”

“I do not understand why you travel with them,  _ tithen pen _ , but I hope you can find some peace while you are here.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear with a tired smile on his face before he left to perform another of his princely duties.

The exhaustion hit her all at once, but what pain she had before was now dulled by what Legolas had given her. She allowed Tauriel to half-carry half-walk her back to the courtyard that had been made into her bedroom so many centuries ago. It looked the same as it had the day she left.

A large round cushion made from several bolts of royal blue velvet trimmed in silver cord filled nearly the entirety of the floorspace save for a two-foot border all around it. A canopy of vines drooping with white flowers thrived in the midday light. To one side sat a long chest with changes of clothes including a spare set of boots she still fit and, when she lifted the lid, found the twin blades she’d inherited from Legolas’s boyhood days. They were the perfect size and well balanced for someone of her stature when she could not rely on the twin blades on her dragon’s tail. Tauriel eased Tirnalil onto a couch tucked into a recess on the far wall and pulled up heavy blankets made of the same deep royal blue hue. Tauriel squeezed her hands and lightly kissed her on the cheek.

“I have missed you, sister.” Another hug enveloped the dragon. “For your sake, I hope you can convince our King before it is too late.”

Some time after the dwarves had all been escorted to their cells, some kept individually, some paired, Thranduil summoned Tirnalil to his chambers. Unlike in Imladris, here she was trusted to move about the halls without an escort, even despite the manner of her return and the company she now kept. She rubbed her eyes as she forced herself to leave the soft nest of blankets and pillows. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but considering she still had her clothes intact, she had to assume, she’d only slept for a few hours and there was time still left in the day.

Thranduil greeted her with a shallow bow of his head before stepping back to allow her entry. 

"Why do you travel with such an unruly group? I confess I had hoped that our paths would cross again, but I did not dare expect it. To find you again with these  _ buffoons  _ is nothing short of a disappointment. Did the Lady of the Golden Wood assign this quest to you?"

Thranduil poured two elf-sized glasses of wine and pushed one towards Tirnalil as he sprawled across the large plush chair, inviting her to do the same on the long bench at the foot of his even larger bed. The dwarves would be dealt with later. He had them separated from each other with their king isolated further still. If the dwarf would not disclose his reasons for trespassing, he would not free them. He could not risk the fall of dragon-fire on his people for the sake of one dwarf's foolish quest.

"Mithrandir actually."

The swiftness with which Thranduil's expression soured was comical, and Tirnalil had to hide a smile behind a long gulp of that rich wine. She failed anyway, snorting at the simple memory of her king's frown. He was still a child forced into the role of king when he was too young, still capable of forgetting to hide his distaste for certain grey-cloaked wizards.

"I don't know why that shocks me. He is always meddling in this or that quest without a care to who might be harmed by it. Why do you follow him,  _ tithen pen _ ? I know you prefer this form to the other, but you are still a dragon. More than anyone else, you have the power to refuse him."

"It is because of that other form that I find myself bound to this quest,” Tirnalil declared with conviction, setting her half-drunk glass back on the table. “If there truly is a dragon still breathing beneath the mountain, how else can they expect to destroy it?"

"They are in the company of a wizard, despite his  _ convenient  _ absence now. If they have any sense, they will let  _ him  _ put it into a deep slumber and then kill it, but then I have never known a dwarf to think before striking with his hammer. They will wake the dragon and all who live in the valley beneath the shadow of the Lonely Mountain will suffer for it."

"No, they won’t. That is why Mithrandir had me join them, to stand against the dragon. I won’t let any harm come to anyone if I can help it."

Thranduil shook his head and set aside his glass as well to seize Tirnalil by her upper arms, begging her to see reason. "You forget that you have never even seen Smaug yourself. He is a formidable foe, said to be the last of the great fire-drakes, capable of both flight and breathing fire. You have neither flight nor flame. How can you stand against him?"

Tirnalil wrenched herself free of the Elvenking’s grasp and glared up at him, tears pricking at her eyes. She had always considered herself at a disadvantage because of her missing wing, but not once had she considered that she might be incapable. "Why are you standing against me?"

"I value the lives of my people more than anything. It is why I did not aid the dwarves when the dragon first came. It is also why I do not wish for you to continue on this cursed journey. I have always considered you as one of my own, even after I was forced to leave you with Lord Elrond. Mirkwood is worse now than it was then, but I would rather have you return to Imladris with your life than to continue East to your death. Having your company now has warmed my heart, but each day you spend here, the poison will seek you out and corrupt you."

She gulped. She suddenly found a crack in one of the tiles on the floor quite interesting.

He turned to glance at her over his shoulder, his hand stilling where he’d been tracing the rim of his glass with a fingertip. Grey eyes narrowed as he looked her over. His voice lost all of its earlier animosity and its passion and replaced them with a broken resignation. "You already feel it, don't you?"

Her voice was a whisper that shook like the last leaf of a tree facing down a winter storm. "Yes. Ever since we entered the forest."

The Elvenking hugged her to him tightly, running his fingers through her long black hair, as if it might be enough to express the depth of his fear for her. "Speak to the dwarf-king. I will meet him one last time, whenever he is ready. If he does not answer me honestly, I will have no choice but to keep him imprisoned. For your sake, let us hope he answers swiftly."

With that, Thranduil pressed his lips to the crown of her head and gently herded her out of his chambers. Although the matter of the dwarves was concerning, he still had his own kingdom to run, and the day was fading fast. Tirnalil would have to return to her courtyard soon lest she become trapped someplace too narrow for her dragon form to turn around.

Tirnalil knew the way to the cells and none would dare stop her, save Legolas and Tauriel, but as friends, not as guards. They would only ask why and then tell her to be safe.

She did not think that any of the company would stop her on her descent. The dark whispers of the poisoned forest had poisoned many of them against her in the end. Despite her many attempts to lead them back to the paths where they would be protected, they called her a deceiver and went deeper still. In the nights before the skirmish with the spiders, they shunned her and doubled the a watch on her lest she take one of them as a meal. She would not. She could sustain herself on lembas bread well enough, and though it wasn’t quite the same, the bread Beorn had given them, offered a little spot of hope in the shadows beneath the trees. Fighting through the exhaustion of changing shape each morning, she had to drag herself as quickly as she could manage so as not to lose them. They always moved on so quickly at first light in the hopes of leaving her behind.

Which is why the hand grasping the edge of her sleeve startled her. The hand belonging to the elder dwarf-prince, Fili.

He had been the only one other than the Hobbit not to be so easily taken by the forest's poison and the last to fall victim to it. They never spoke about the night they shared, the night that she credited her survival to. Without his intervention, she doubted she would have been able to keep up due to the mounting pain. That he continued to aid her discreetly every night thereafter had been a blessing and a kindness. Where the others expressly made no attempt to acknowledge her in the night, he had always left no more than a couple mouthfuls of the night's soup in his bowl and left it unguarded when he turned in for the night. Other nights when they could spare very little, he poured out a ladle of broth and mixed in some of the dried  _ athelas _ before leaving the bowl where she could reach it.

Thorin's watchful eye had lingered on Tirnalil with too much suspicion for her to confront the dwarf-prince about it directly back then, but she appreciated it all the same. Even so, she had come to treasure the rare nights when Fili managed to lay out his bedroll nearby rather than on the opposite side of the camp. She would have considered them friends if they’d spoken even a single direct word to each other, but she hadn’t dared. But then he suddenly severed all his interactions with her.

His mouth hung open now as if he meant to ask a question, but conflict warred in his eyes, his brows drawn together with not quite fear, but certainly with worry.

"I'm going to speak with Thorin. This is going to be his last chance to speak with Thranduil and ask for the release of your kin. If you have a message for him, I will take it, but I cannot promise he will look past his distrust of me to hear it," she whispered through the bars, turning only her face towards him. Her entire body seemed to vibrate with a nervous energy.

The prince withdrew his hand and for a moment a strange thought crossed her mind,  _ she did not like the loss of it _ . It was short-lived though because in the span of another breath, he removed a silver bead from his hair, deft fingers swiftly undoing one of the braids in his hair, and pressed it into her palm, folding her fingers over it, then patting her fist once before stepping farther back into his cell.

"Tell him that you have my trust. Durin's Day is nearly upon us. No matter the cost, we must continue."

He set his jaw, nodded, and turned away.

When she was a few more steps down the path to where Thorin was being kept, she uncurled her fingers from around the bead and found it stamped with tiny intricate runes and on both ends was a small, recessed border filled with enamel the color of the iconic Durin blue. She did not understand much of the secretive dwarf culture, but she did understand that beads and braids held a special significance for them. Hopefully it would be enough to convince Thorin to swallow his pride and act rationally.

Instead, he spit at her feet when she came to a stop before his cell. She forced herself to keep calm and deliver her message.

"Thranduil is extending one last chance for you to answer him honestly why you were crossing Mirkwood, or he will keep you and your company imprisoned here. Please, you must answer if you are to be freed."

"I will not listen to a dragon-spy for the elves. It was by your doing that we were nearly killed by the spiders. You drew them to us," he hissed, slamming his fist against the bars.

She bit her tongue rather than refute him. Instead, she took a steadying breath and presented her open palm through the bars. "Your nephew gave me this and the message that I have his trust."

His eyes widened at the sight of the bead in her hand, and with the greed of a dragon caught by the spell of gold, snatched it up for closer inspection. "Am I to believe this was given to you of his own free will, not forcibly cut from his braids?"

"I cannot tell you what to believe, but, yes, he gave it willingly. He also said that you must continue no matter the cost now that it is nearly Durin's Day."

Thorin heaved a great sigh and held his closed fist out through the cell door. "Keep the bead. I will not speak to your elf-king today."

Having done her duty in relaying the message to the dwarf-king, Tirnalil took her leave of the king and returned to the main level of the palace. A second run-in she had not planned on came in the form of Tauriel, who held Tirnalil's arms to steady herself after coming round the corner much too quickly.

With a blush coloring her cheeks, Tauriel flashed the dragon a small smile, her eyes flickering down to the fist she held awkwardly behind her, and the smile broadened.

"Follow me," was all she said before the dragon was pulled quickly through the winding halls until they came to a stop at one of the open courtyards.

Golden light spilled through the branches, the sun would set within the hour.

Tirnalil could only describe the look in Tauriel's eyes as glee. "What is it that has you so full of joy?"

"Perhaps the same thing that you hold in your hand," Tauriel teased.

"It was given to me to prove to the dwarf-king that I could be trusted," Tirnalil murmured but opened her hand to reveal the bead. She’d held it so tightly, the runes left an impression on her skin. “Surely it cannot be such a momentous occasion.”

Even Tauriel had to pause and tilt her head before she chose her next words. "Kili tells me that few things are as important to dwarves as their braids and the beads that adorn them. None of their kin would have parted with one lightly. Which of them gave this to you?"

"Kili? Have you been talking to him? Is that why you appear so flustered?" Now it was Tirnalil’s turn to tease her friend, poking her in the ribs.

Tauriel shook her head and pressed Tirnalil's hand closed over the bead again, smiling softly. "He is kind, and the best archer I have seen among that dwarves, perhaps even among elves. He intrigues me. Now, my sister, you must answer me."

"Fili. Fili gave me the bead, but what am I meant to do with it? I would lose it the first night I transformed!"

"Not if we braid it onto Elvish rope," Tauriel exclaimed and cut a length of it from the bundle she kept at her side, still there from her last patrol. As if sensing Tirnalil's lingering apprehension, she locked eyes with her friend. "What worries you?"

"I fear for them. The dwarf-king does not trust me, not completely, and the poison is still in his mind. I fear he will cost his kin this last chance for freedom."

"I know our king will not risk our people, but I also know that he is blinded to the danger left by the dragon being allowed to remain beneath the mountain. There is only one way forward even if he will not listen to you or I."

"What are you saying?"

"If the dwarf fails to win their lawful freedom, then we shall secure it for them." Tauriel uttered the words with great confidence as she finished weaving the silver bead into the piece of rope. "Now give me your arm. The knots I've put into it should allow it to expand enough that it will be just as secure in your dragon form. We shall find out tonight, but perhaps until the dwarves are gone from our halls, you should keep it hidden."

Tirnalil held her arm up over her head, admiring the glint of the last of the sun's light on its surface. "Thank you, Tauriel. I will keep your secret as I know you will keep mine. Now go."

Tauriel pressed a parting kiss to Tirnalil's cheek before disappearing from the courtyard. Tirnalil always hated to be watched while she transformed, never mind that she had to strip down first each time if she wanted to have something to change into for the next day. The crack of bones and the hisses of pain that slipped past gritted teeth as she fought against the screams. No matter the fact that she'd undergone the transformation each night for nearly half a century, it never got any easier.

Her energy spent, she pulled herself into a tight ball, coiling her long tail around her, mindful of the dual blades at the tip, and nudged the tiny bead with the tip of her nose. It was just as pretty in the night as it had been in the last light of day. It was, at the very least, much easier to achieve a semblance of restful sleep in the courtyard compared to outside in the poisoned woods. Though a small part of her wished she could have the company of a certain dwarf beside her.

* * *

While the dragon secretly spoke to the young princeling, the king had received illicit visits of his own, for he had been sequestered far from his kin and had grown desperate for companionship in the dark cells beneath Mirkwood.

The hobbit slipped a gold ring from his finger and rounded the corner to Thorin’s cell with a pep in his step and an apple in his pocket, announcing his presence with a rap of his knuckles to the cell door.

“It’s not much, but I was able to get this for you,” Bilbo mumbled, withdrawing the shining red fruit.

“You’re alive?” Thorin exclaimed breathlessly as he rushed up to the bars and took the hobbit’s wrist in a fierce grasp, causing the apple to fall between them. A credit to his ever growing courage, the hobbit didn’t flinch. Much. But he did mourn for the apple. “How did you escape the elves?”

Bilbo tsked and plucked at the fingers of the hand on his wrist until he was freed. He bent down to inspect the fruit for damage before scooting it the rest of the way into the cell. Then he stood and dusted himself off. “No small amount of luck, let me tell you, but here I am.”

“Where are the others?” Thorin asked, placing both hands on the bars to steady himself.

“Several floors above, but I know where each of them have been taken. Even the princes have been separated, but they do not suffer for the separation.”

“Thranduil seeks to torture me then, by keeping us separated like this.”

“Yes, but, Thorin, I don’t know if this will bring you anger or relief, but although they have been separated, neither Prince is without company.”

Thorin’s expression darkened, and Bilbo gulped loudly, tugging at the collar of his shirt nervously. “What do you mean, burglar? Speak plainly.”

Bilbo threw up both hands and took a step backwards, begging for that temper to ease. “You can’t be mad at either of the boys, do you understand me? The she-elf from the woods, Tauriel, has been visiting Kili. Mostly they talk about archery, sometimes about the stars, sometimes home, the Blue Mountains. As for Fili, I worry about him, and by extension, I’m worried about Tirnalil.”

“What of that hellish beast? She led us right to elves, as I said she would, and now look where we are!” Thorin roared, slamming an open palm against the bars, rattling the door in its frame.

Bilbo got in his face at once, poking the taller dwarf with a quivering finger to the chest. He punctuated his words with more stabs. “You fool of a dwarf! You think you’re suffering down here? She is  _ dying _ , Thorin. I don’t care what you think about her or about Thranduil, but you had better swallow it down and do whatever the Elvenking asks of you. If Gandalf’s right about her, we need her to overthrow Smaug and she very well can’t do that if she’s dead so,” Bilbo deflated, his courage leaving him, “so don’t muck this up.”

Bilbo slipped on his funny little ring just then and left Thorin to think on his words. He did not linger to see Thorin’s reaction. There were twelve other dwarves he could visit and find better company.

* * *

Every day Tirnalil would go down to the cells to ask Thorin to speak with her king, and every day he would send her away, his eyes narrowed at the bead tied around her wrist. She always shook her sleeve down to hide it when she caught him staring, but he would not budge in his defiance. Instead, she found better conversation with the elder princeling. Only the knowledge that Tauriel had also been captivated by the other prince kept her from shying away from him completely.

All the dwarves had had their armor taken from them before they’d been locked into their cells, and something about Fili being left in his plain clothes, though dirty, frightened her. He couldn’t have many more knives hidden on him without his heavy coat, but to see him so unarmored was, well, beyond description. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

She sat back to back with him most often, with the cell door between them, it was less frightening than looking at him in the face. So accustomed to seeing fear in the eyes of others, she could not bear to see it in his. Absently, she often toyed with the bead at her wrist while they talked about everything and nothing.

“Why did you stop speaking with me?” she asked, voice small.

Fili sighed behind her, the sound ringing in her ears in the dead quiet of the early hour. “I would not have stopped had it not been for my uncle’s command.”

“And do you always listen to your uncle so completely? He would have led you all to ruin.”

Another sigh. “You don’t understand what all he’s suffered through. We thirteen are the only ones who still follow him. I cannot abandon him now.” The  _ not for you  _ was left unspoken.

She laughed hollowly and tilted her head back against the cell bars.

"You came from Ered Luin? The Blue Mountains?" she asked, opting for a total change of subject. She'd heard the words many times between the others of the company, most often when debating if they ought to simply turn around and admit that they were never meant to reach the Lonely Mountain, that their lives were better spent with their families than they were spent being chased around by orcs and wargs.

"Yes, have you never been?" Fili fired back.

"No. To think that I have lived for so long and I have only seen a small part of this world, it's just, there is no word for it. But I feel it as a loss, to know what is out there and to not be able to see it." Tirnalil’s heart sank, but she’d always known that such adventures were beyond her. Still, to hear Bilbo speak of the Shire brought her a profound sadness. Having spent much time in the Valley of the Last Homely House, she had grown fond of the flowers and the lush green vines that grew there, nourished by the healing spray of the many waterfalls, but she wanted to see the rich colors of all the flowers Bilbo described in his garden alone.

"Why don't you go out then, see it for yourself? You tell my uncle all the time that you do not have a lord, even if you are an  _ elf-spy _ ." Fili laughed under his breath at the name, and Tirnalil knew it was said in jest. “The whole world could be yours and yet you’ve stayed in Rivendell for centuries!”

"It is not safe for me to go beyond the reach of the aid of elves. As long as I have lived, I have felt a pull to the South, to my kin, where they lie buried in the blackened earth. Sometimes I think that I'm losing the battle to stay as myself and not as the dragon," she answered honestly and shrugged. “There are days that it is safer for everyone that I am near elves who are bound in their duty to kill me if I should fail.”

"Why do you stay with us then? Do we have the pleasure of being held in the same esteem, as capable of killing you as an elf?" Fili’s voice grew quiet as it lost its humor. 

"I stay with you by the will of Galadriel. Yes, Mithrandir asked me to follow you, but Galadriel would not have permitted it if she did not see it was the best path forward. When I followed you from Imladris, she did not chastise me, she blessed me with a long night without dreams for the first time in many nights. It was only because of that, that I had the strength to follow the eagle to Beorn's house." She did not answer his second question, but nor did he press her for one.

Before they could continue their conversation, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the narrow steps towards them.

“For what it’s worth, I have not feared a slip in your control since that night in the forest,” were his parting words as she scrambled to her feet and left the dungeons before they could be caught speaking with each other. His words remained at the forefront of her mind until she turned in for the night.

* * *

Since the dwarves’ imprisonment beneath the halls of the Elvenking, Tauriel had found a common ground with the young princeling in a love for the stars and the moon and the strange phenomena that sometimes happened. He’d won her over with his tale of the fire moon over Dunland and again with each of his stories after that. For many seasons she had lived in the Woodland Realm, but she had never seen even half the things he described.

“Archery is not a common skill for a dwarf,” Tauriel said nonchalantly when she brought the younger princeling his dinner. She set it down on the floor and passed it through the gap at the bottom of the door with her boot.

“I could never beat my brother in close combat, but I always win if he can’t get close enough to fight me,” Kili explained around a mouthful of bread, eager for the nourishment.

She rolled her eyes at the young dwarf’s inelegance but could not hide her laughter. It was rare to find someone so full of joy despite being stuck in a cell in the Elvenking’s halls. Because the dwarves had been so separated better draw out the truth from their leader, it took a handful of elves to make certain each dwarf received food and water in a timely manner, and Tauriel had taken up the task of guarding the younger of the dwarf-princes. 

It had taken a couple of days for the princeling to cave and make conversation, and Tauriel only had to mention his brother once to ease the way. A sliver of guilt popped up in her mind for having separated the brothers, but since she knew that not a day went by that Tirnalil did not visit the elder brother, she could push aside the guilt easily.

“I heard Balin before. Is it true what he said? None can leave here without the king’s consent?”

“Yes, is it true. There is but one entrance, and it is heavily guarded. A deal between your king and mine is your only hope, but one deal already your king has rejected. Lord Thranduil does not often offer a second, but lucky for you, he has a great love for Tirnalil. He still carries the guilt of her broken wing, even after all this time. He will seek her counsel in the matter of your quest if he has not already. He is not as heartless as you might believe, Master Dwarf.”

“What do you mean?”

“Has she not mentioned to you how she came to us, or to Lord Elrond?” Tauriel paused, uncertain if she should continue.

“No, but that may be due to Thorin’s orders that we were not to speak to her.”

Tauriel uttered some choice words under her breath in Sindarin, too quickly for Kili to really hear let alone understand. “And you believe us to be the cruel ones,” she hissed instead, fighting back tears. “When she came to us, she was weak and afraid. Even after she was healed, she could not stay here. All of the love we carried for her could not sustain her against the shadow. And you forced her to walk the dark alone, with none to confide in? It is little wonder she has deteriorated so swiftly. I have to go.”

“Wait, I don’t understand.”

“She is dying, Master Dwarf. If you had allowed her to lead you here sooner, she might have stood a chance, but she fades even now, even with Lord Thranduil watching over her.” 

“Wait, Tauriel,” Kili called after her before she could disappear up the steps. She didn’t turn back to face him although she did pause. “I may have lost your favor, but do not think poorly of my brother. He defied our uncle and supplied her with kingsfoil each night once we realized she was suffering. Fili is a good dwarf, better than me. I should have helped, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“ _ Athelas _ ? You brother bought her time, and for that he has my thanks, but it is not a cure against the shadow. I have to go,” Tauriel declared and wiped away a stray tear as she ascended the stairs and left the cells behind.

Kili slumped back against his cell wall. He would have to hope that he had not lost his only contact beyond the isolation of his cell. He could hear the others above them if he really listened and if they really shouted, but he could not pick out Fili’s voice among them. He had seen Fili being hauled off after Thorin further down the path, but they passed beyond his view fairly quickly, and beyond his hearing not long after.

Now that he thought back to it, they really did know precious little about their dragon companion beyond what Gandalf had told them in Beorn’s house. She was a skin-changer by a dark enchantment, but she had lived almost exclusively with Lord Elrond for most of her life after Thranduil had saved her life. She survived enslavement by the orcs, but none knew how old she truly was, how long she had truly lived as a dragon, if she’d been alive since the War of Wrath or if she’d only recently awoken. It was neither common nor uncommon knowledge that dragon eggs required specific conditions to hatch, but given the nature of her curse, Gandalf could not answer if she’d been born from an egg at all. All they’d had to go on was pure hearsay and speculation. All they really knew for certain was that she’d pledged herself to their aid before ever meeting them.

And they’d repaid her in silence and hate.

Kili pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin between his kneecaps. They’d been inexcusably awful to her. They really had, and although, yes, they’d been affected by the forest, Fili strangely hadn’t, not until the very end. If not for him, Tirnalil probably wouldn’t have lived long enough to return to the Elvenking. Kili did not want to consider how their positions might be different if that had been the case. Tauriel made it seem like the Elvenking valued Tirnalil like Thorin valued the Arkenstone, and Kili knew that Thorin would stop at nothing to reclaim the King’s Jewel. 

If things were truly as dire as Tauriel had him believe, for all their sakes, he prayed to Mahal that Tirnalil would pull through.

* * *

Another morning dawned and again the dragon appeared before the prince. Tirnalil ventured to look at the dwarf prince out of the corner of her eye, and finding his eyes shut, head tilted back against the wall of his cell, she shuffled to turn so she was facing him, knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. In the early hours of the day, they had some time before one of the other elves would come down to deliver a breakfast of bread and a tasteless soup. Tirnalil always slipped away before she could be found speaking with him.

For now, he appeared too tired to look at her.

"Why is your uncle so opposed to speaking with my king?" she questioned him. Discussions would have gone a good deal more smoothly, and they probably would have been on their way already if not for the tempers of either king. She knew that Thranduil had offered his aid already in exchange for the gems he’d been promised by Thorin’s forebears, and that the offer had been rejected and returned with only more insults.

Fili's hands tightened around his biceps, his arms folded across his chest, but he did not open his eyes. "He carries the hate of our people for having been turned away when our need for aid was at its greatest. Your king gave us no shelter when Smaug first came and forced us from our home. Dwarves do not easily forget, nor do they easily forgive."

Tirnalil frowned, but she could not fault them for their hate despite how many years had passed. "Do  _ you  _ resent Thranduil, or the elves?"

"I cannot resent any of your people, even Thranduil, with the same depth as my uncle because I was not a part of it, but I cannot trust so easily that they will not do the same again. Isn't that why we are still here? Why else would your king keep us imprisoned, if not to prevent us from reclaiming Erebor from the dragon?"

Fili's eyes opened then, still half-lidded, but Tirnalil flinched at the flicker of fire within them.

"You are not wrong, Master Dwarf," she said, copying the language she'd picked up from Legolas from what she'd seen when he addressed them though she said it lightly and shrugged so that he would know she did not mean anything by it. "My king fears that the dragon will turn his fire to what remains of the Greenwood since it stands to gain nothing from destroying Esgaroth. He fears that you will wake Smaug and force the same tragedy onto his people, but the elves would never recover from it, their numbers have shrunk so badly since the days of the Last Alliance.”

Fili shut his eyes again and sighed. "And you? Where do you stand?"

"Smaug is a threat to my people. I can either turn a blind eye and be reduced to a life of constant fear, or I can stand with those who would eliminate that threat. By my life or death, I would see Erebor reclaimed."

Bright amber eyes opened, and she could not bring herself to look away. The change was slow but sure, and his face split into a grin that crinkled the edges of his eyes. "My uncle may disagree with it, but I knew I could trust you. I’m sorry that I stopped talking to you. If I could turn back time, I would have followed you. Perhaps then I could have spared you from this suffering.”

She smiled and tentative fingers crept towards him until she found his hand and intertwined their fingers. His eyes softened and he raised their hands between them, pressing his lips to her knuckles, featherlight but there. They leaned their foreheads together, content in the other’s presence, and stayed that way for some time until the arrival of the prince’s breakfast forced Tirnalil to leave.

* * *

The hobbit did not return to the dwarf-king’s side for several nights after locating his cell, but curiously, when he did return, immediately, Thorin rushed to the cell bars but stopped himself from reaching out for the hobbit when Bilbo tucked his arms behind his back. He had one question burning in his mind that he’d been dying to ask the Hobbit, in the hopes that Bilbo had been there to see it.

“Did you know that Fili had given the dragon a bead?” Thorin asked after taking several deep breaths to calm himself.

“A bead? What do you mean?” Bilbo cocked his head and rocked back on his heels. “No, I was with the Urs this morning. The elves at least kept them together.”

Thorin’s shoulders remained tense, but he stepped away from the door and sat on his cot. He would have to trust that wretched creature had not obtained it by force and that his nephew had indeed given it freely. He would have died sooner than be forcibly parted from it. “Beads are a deeply personal aspect of dwarven culture. As such, they are not exchanged freely. If you see him, tell my nephew he could have picked any other bead.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand. If they’re so personal, why would he give it away?”

Thorin shook his head, tilting his face upwards for a breath before answering, “Fili didn’t  _ give it away _ . He gave it to Tirnalil.”

“Fine, then why would he give it to Tirnalil? And why does it matter so much because, to be honest, you look like you have a broomstick shoved up your backside!”

Bilbo instantly clapped both hands over his mouth at his outburst.

Thorin’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline..

Neither spoke for a minute or two, but finally Thorin broke the silence. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “It matters because he gave her what amounts to a courting bead. Normally courting would be initiated by the exchange of a bead he’d personally forged, but given our current predicament, presenting her with a bead with our crest carries the same meaning. He trusts her to hold onto it, even though I find it highly unlikely that she understands its importance. He gave her the bead so that I might be moved to trust her as well.”

“And do you?”

“No.”

“Thorin.”

“Bilbo.”

“Thorin, you don’t have to like it, but if Fili meant what he did when he gave her that bead, you will have to learn to deal with it too. Either way, what I said before remains unchanged. She is dying, Thorin, I have heard more than one elf say as much, but instead of leaving for her own sake, she stays here. I won’t pretend to understand what grievances lie between dwarves and elves, but for her sake and Fili’s, swallow your pride and do what you must to earn your freedom.”

Thorin glared at the hobbit until Bilbo fled back up the stairs, disappearing halfway up the second step, before he stretched out on the stone slab that made his bed. He glowered at the ceiling of his cell and beat a fist against the wall as if it would help to make sense of his thoughts. It only left the side of his palm sore and hot. He cradled his hand to his chest and shut his eyes, forcing himself to measure his breaths, in and out.

He kept his eyes shut as he gave the hobbit’s words serious thought. Truthfully he didn’t like the thought of whatever was growing between his nephew and the dragonspawn, but locked in the bowels of the Elvenking’s halls, he could do nothing to stop it. Indeed, he’d tried to in the forest when he forbade speaking to it, but he knew exactly what Fili was doing when he went back for seconds and didn’t finish his bowl. Only Dwalin’s insistence that without Fili’s interference the dragon would have slowed them down had kept Thorin from putting a stop to it then. Then it had saved them from setting foot in the Enchanted River, though they hadn’t known it at the time, they’d simply been grateful to stay dry.

He flinched when his mind circled back to the night on the cliff. His heart clenched and his ribs ached at the memory. The dragon had risen like a fearsome beast, white scales reflecting the red and gold of the fire. He saw Smaug in its place. Smaug and Azog, his worst nightmares, come together to haunt him. But then it turned on Azog and forced the Pale Orc’s warg to drop him to the earth. While the black creeped into the edges of his vision, he watched it battle with the orc, but he also saw it freeze, every muscle in its body locking with a terror he was not unfamiliar with. He’d done the same when he first saw Azog’s face.

Tirnalil recognized Azog.

She’d fought well from what little he’d seen, and they had abandoned her. Then he’d tried to leave her behind in the woods. She’d proven how far she was willing to push herself to come to their defense and that loyalty had been repaid with distrust. 

He rubbed his face with both hands and groaned. He simply  _ couldn’t  _ bring himself to trust her. She was still a dragon, in her heart of hearts. As Durin’s line was at risk of gold-sickness, dragons were no better. Who could say what she might do if she lived to see Smaug’s demise? He could not submit the mountain to the rule of yet another dragon. He would never let another dragon take what was theirs.

* * *

The Elvenking was not as cold as he made himself out to be, not truly. His people had suffered greatly in the Battle of Dagorlad, and he’d lost his own father and been forced into rule before he’d been ready for it. He would not rush so blindly into another war if it could be helped. The Woodland Realm, while its individual elves were strong, was weak for having lost such a large portion of its population in the wars of ages past. They were not in a position to fight another. They had suffered enough, already withdrawing their presence from the woods around the ancient stronghold of Amon Lanc, now known as Dol Goldur. No, he could not lead his people to ruin again.

“You care for the elder prince, and he cares for you,” Thranduil observed one morning. He’d intercepted Tirnalil before she could slip down to the cells, and she knew she’d been found out. Her face fell, but he reached out a hand to caress her cheek. “Do not be afraid, tithen pen. I only remark on it because it is curious. What do you see in him?”

Tirnalil released her breath and leaned into the Elvenking’s touch. “A kindness, my king. He gave me broth with kingsfoil each morning. It was only through his efforts that I am here now.”

Thranduil moved his hand to the dragon’s shoulder and turned her so they could walk together away from the cells and to the dining halls. “Kingsfoil cannot save you; it is but a temporary measure.”

“I know,” the dragon whispered, defeated.

“I shall thank him personally for his aid later today, but for now, I would like to see you eat more than scraps of bread. Tauriel tells me your appetite is lacking. You need to regain your strength, Tirnalil, or even the kingsfoil will not be enough to sustain you.”

“I know.”

“Then why do you not eat?”

“How can I eat when all I can feel is the sickness in the forest?” Tirnalil asked in a sudden spike of rage. She stopped walking and smacked Thranduil’s hand away from her. “If I am getting weak, it is less because of my appetite and more due to the fact that you’ve let the darkness grow. You knew what it was doing to me when I first came to you. Galadriel told you that I could not return until it had been eradicated. Have you made  _ any  _ effort to reduce it?”

“Dol Goldur is beyond our borders. What happens outside my realm is of little consequence to me.”

“What happens outside your realm would have killed me if not for the dwarf prince. He has done more for me than you have so do not pretend you care for me at all.”

“Tirnalil.”

“No.”

“Tirnalil, you do not understand.”

“No, I think I understand enough.”

When Thranduil reached for her arm again, he closed long fingers around her wrist with an ironclad grasp. “You are being foolish. Who are these dwarves to you that you would surrender your life for them so easily? What binds you to them? What  _ blinds  _ you so completely that you cannot see that this can only end in your death?”

Tirnalil tried to wrench her arm away, but her efforts amounted to little until she was forced to her knees.

“Answer me, Tirnalil.”

“I have to get to Erebor. That is all I know,” she gasped and slumped to the floor as soon as she was released, clutching her bruised wrist.

“Which part of you believes that, I wonder,” Thranduil hummed, then turned away from her. “I kept you alive, Tirnalil, when I could have destroyed you for the threat you posed. It is my burden to eliminate you if you become that threat. Do not forget that.”

Tirnalil scooted backwards until she could curl up in a corner, watching the Elvenking drift away in the effortless manner of all elves, enhanced by the drape of silver robes. His words frightened her, as they were meant to. But she’d spoken truthfully. At least in part. She felt bound to the dwarf prince in an inexplicable way, but the pull she felt from the south, the whisper of darkness, she now also heard in the east. Something was different about it though she could not put her finger on it.

* * *

Another week passed and another blue-hour of the early morning Tirnalil allowed Fili to take her wrist with the elvish rope securing the bead. His hands were warm, the skin rough from many years of work, but he did not remark on the faint scars he found beneath the coil of rope, nor did he comment on the fresh bruises there.

"Will you tell me what the runes say?" she asked quietly though with no one around for many hours, she didn’t truly need to whisper.

Fili stopped twiddling with the bead but maintained his grip on her wrist, tracing her pulse point with the rough pad of his thumb.

“It is the crest of the house of Durin,” he explained, pointing to the large square emblem on the front and back of the bead. The runes here at the top are a promise of strength, but not in the physical sense, it’s the strength to rule, you could call it, the strength to be a true king for his people. The ones on the bottom are for loyalty. The house of Durin will never fall as long as there are those who remain loyal to it. It’s why my mother Dis could not keep me or my brother from following our uncle on this quest. We’re of the house of Durin. If anyone is going to reclaim the mountain, it has to be us.”

“Do you miss her?” 

“Yes, I do.” Fili laughed, and it was such a bright sound, she felt her face flush just thinking of how she might get him to laugh more often. “Do you know how many times I wish that she had come with us? I think she would like you. I know she would. I also think she would have beaten Thorin thrice to death for getting us lost in the woods. He’s never been the best with directions. Do you know he even lost his way trying to find Bilbo’s house in the shire?”

“Is she a kind person?”

Fili took her hand in both of his and smiled at her with such fierce happiness she had to hide her mouth behind her free hand lest he see she was near tears. His earnesty was just so heartwarming, she was not prepared. It was too early to ask her heart to bear it.

“She’s only the kindest, most beautiful, most forgiving dwarrowdam of all! Don’t be fooled, she won’t suffer fools, and she’s smart as a whip, but she would never let a child go hungry, much less let a child go without a toy on Durin’s Day. Thorin may be the leader of the Company, but my mother is the one who is keeping Ered Luin from ruin.”

“She sounds like a force of nature, and I should like to meet her someday,” Tirnalil sighed and shut her eyes. She let her head fall against the bars. Maybe she could stay a minute or two. It was early still, and she did not doubt that Fili would wake her if he heard someone coming. Right now, though, she just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep.

“Thank you, Tir,” Fili whispered into her hair moments before she faded into sleep. He never dropped her hand from his, only used his other hand to gently guide her head to where she would be partly cushioned against his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to her hair and mouthed the words,  _ Thank you _ .

She had never felt more rested when he at last forced her to wake, gently shaking her by the shoulders. Even barely awake and fleeing from the cells out of sight of the elves, she did not feel the vice-like grip of the evil around her lungs as keenly and the air felt lighter somehow. As she slipped behind a curtain to avoid being found by a passing guard, she could not help the blush that rose to her cheeks at the memory of his lips against her hair.

* * *

Tauriel had not meant to linger when she passed Kili his dinner, but the dwarf caught her by the wrist, his touch only light enough to get her attention for he swiftly released her the moment he had it.

“Please,” he whispered like a broken man, “please, I have missed your company. Will you tell me more about the stars?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Tauriel obliged him and settled on the floor in front of his cell, sitting with her legs crossed and her arms behind her to support her weight. Her eyes turned to the stars far above the ceiling and she felt the weight lift from her shoulders at the memory of a night long ago, before dragons, before the shadow turned the Greenwood to Mirkwood.

“There is a pool in the mountains. Sometimes I walk there at night when the moon is gone from the sky. The stars shine all the brighter for its absence, and the water is so calm and still, it reflects their light so beautifully, it is like walking in the heavens.”

“Perhaps one day you can take me there. I had always thought starlight to be cold and remote.”

Tauriel’s expression was soft and open when she looked down at the dwarf. A smile slowly spread across his lips and she was helpless against it. She felt the smile come to her face unbidden. “Perhaps one day.”

They said nothing and sat in silence for a time until Kili broke it once more. “How is she? I see her when she passes, never for very long, but what little I have seen, I fear for your friend.”

“She still fades,” Tauriel answered just as quietly. She turned away from Kili, looking further down the line of cells, where Kili knew his brother and uncle were kept, where Kili had watched Tirnalil disappear to..

“Is there nothing that can be done to stop it?”

Tauriel shook her head, shoulders stiff. “She cannot stay here. The dark power to the south, it calls to her. Either she will die or she will succumb to it. The only way she survives is if she leaves.”

“Then why is she still here?”

Tauriel laughed, but there was no mirth in it. Her hands came up to thread themselves in her hair, pulling at her braids. “She has pledged herself to your quest. I have had the pleasure of knowing her for many years, and all that time has taught me is that she is loyal to a fault. She will not leave any of you behind, even at the cost of her own life.”

Then it was Kili’s turn to laugh just as hollowly. “They are meant for each other. Neither will leave the other behind.”

“What do you mean, dwarf?” Tauriel hissed, the venom returning to her voice and causing Kili to step back away from the cell door. “Speak quickly.”

“You will hate me even more, but you have to understand that I regret not being kinder to her. I would change things if I could.”

“Kili, just explain.”

“They were close before we were brought here.” Kili paused, watching the she-elf for a reaction, but all he found was her stony expression. “We had ample opportunity to leave her behind, she just kept tripping over everything, falling every time one of us so much as blinked. My uncle was trying to separate her from the rest of us, but Fili would never let us leave camp without her. Usually made some excuse about dropping one of his knives.”

“Your brother sounds like a good dwarf. A better one than your king.”

“Do not hold it against my uncle. He has lived through too many tragedies, been through more hardship than I can imagine. He is only trying to do the right thing. He just,” Kili shrugged his shoulders in defeat, “doesn’t quite see what’s right just yet. He will though. I know he will come around. All the rest of us at least kind of trust Tirnalil now.”

“Kili, you must understand that I would do anything to protect her. I am certain you would do the same for your brother.”

“Of course.”

“Then know this. If your brother ever hurts her, I shall remove his head from his shoulders myself.”

Kili’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of a shovel talk. “Well, I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about in that case. I have scarcely seen my brother so devoted to anything before, or anyone, aside from our own mother. They must be quite close indeed for you to say such things.”

Tauriel laughed. “If you could only see it. Several times I have found Legolas waiting at the steps for her to wake before he comes to the cells.”

Kili could not hide his surprise at the news. “Legolas, the elf-prince? He knows and does not stop it?”

“It seems that there are several of us who know and do not stop it. I can see the good it does for her. With her health already failing, I would not jeopardize the one thing that seems to tether her to this world. You are lucky your brother has been so kind to her. If she had not survived this long, I do not think your king would have had as many chances to speak with mine as he’s been given.”

“My uncle  _ will  _ come around. He will see that we cannot escape this place on our own,” Kili said and banged his fist against the cell bars for emphasis. “But you should go. We have been talking for too long. I would not wish to get you into any trouble. Perhaps your prince makes an exception for Tirnalil, but I would not expect him to do the same for me.”

Tauriel smiled at the dwarf/ For the first time in their last moments together, it was genuine. “Until tomorrow then.”

“Yes, tomorrow. Good night, Tauriel.”

As she stood to leave, they brushed hands, and for the briefest moment, he felt her fingers curl around his. Then she was gone, whisper-quiet, back up the stairs and into starlight. Still smiling like a fool, Kili slumped back against the wall of his cell. While he sorely missed the companionship of his brother, he had to admit he was not suffering, not as long as Tauriel kept speaking to him. Aside from the moments when she reminded him of the dwarves’ poor treatment of the dragon, of Tirnalil, she radiated kindness and warmth. Sharp and capable when necessary, Kili had seen some of himself in her when they spoke about the moon and stars, the same sense of adventure, the desire to see it all. Perhaps if their uncle could not forsake Fili for his interest in the dragon, then he could extend the same pardon to Kili. Try as he might to deny it, he could not ignore the way his heart beat more desperately when the she-elf was near. 

Oh, Mahal. If they ever survived their extended stay in Mirkwood, the line of Durin might just end with them anyway.

* * *

The next time Bilbo appeared at the door to Thorin’s cell he began speaking without preamble, as if he’d been holding onto the words for ages. “Thorin, have you ever considered that Fili gave Tirnalil a courtship bead because maybe he wanted to court her? He would have known the meaning of the bead he gave to her. I find it highly, no,  _ impossibly  _ dubious that he would have picked that bead purely as proof of his trust.”

Very slowly, hands up and open as if placating a bear, Thorin approached the door. In a calm voice, he asked, “Bilbo, will you please lower your voice?”

“L-lower my voice? Really, Thorin, I am astonished,” Bilbo started before he realized that, yes, perhaps he was a little hysterical, but oh, such things were bound to happen when you had little else to do but pretend you were invisible for weeks. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just- seriously, have you considered-?”

“That my nephew might be courting a dragon?” Thorin finished for the hobbit, voice monotone. He sighed and stretched his arms out through the cell bars so that he was nearly face to face with the hobbit. “Yes, I’ve considered it. I think I was aware of it happening in the woods. I did not like it then, and I like it less now, but I cannot stop it. As much as I would like to, I cannot deny that something pulls them together, has pulled them together since we entered the skin-changer’s home. I do not know yet if it is a blessing or a warning from Mahal.”

“She has a name, Tirnalil, and she has only ever wanted to help you. Would it kill you to stop harassing her when she comes to speak with you,” the hobbit groaned, clearly frustrated by the dwarf. “If you could just speak to the Elvenking civilly, perhaps he might let you go.”

After the amount of times that Bilbo had randomly appeared from thin air, Thorin had stopped being surprised by it. “That accursed beast is the reason we are stuck here.”

“No, she is not. Your pride is. If you could only see it, you might understand that she truly means  _ no  _ harm. All she wants is to see Erebor returned to you. She has sworn to see it through, by her life or death. Thorin, I believed her, and I know Fili believed her. What does she need to do for you to believe her too?”

Thorin’s voice was distant, not quite emotionless, but cold when he answered the hobbit’s question with one of his own. “What do you know about dragons, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo chuckled drily. “Very little, I’m afraid. They’re mostly creatures used to make sure fauntlings don’t stay out too late after dark or disobey their parents. To be honest, I don’t think I considered them to even be real until your lot appeared at my door.”

“It is said that few, if any, fire-drakes survived the War of Wrath, but more of their weaker kin had fled to the north. They multiplied there in the frozen wastes. My great-great grandfather had built a kingdom there in the Grey Mountains before he and his brother were slain by a cold-drake, killed for the riches he’d amassed with his ring of power. After that, my people retreated, my grandfather Thror reestablished Erebor while his brother went eastward to establish his own kingdom in the Iron Hills, where my cousin Dain now dwells. We finally had peace and prosperity, but Smaug destroyed everything we had built and we were thrust into Exile. Long have my people suffered under the threat of dragons so you will forgive me if I find it difficult to trust this one. Every time we rebuild our homes, our kingdoms, a dragon destroys it all.”

Bilbo’s frown had deepened as Thorin told his tale, but he shook himself and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. He shook his head, nose twitching. “She’s not like them, and you’ve been too blind to see it. I shall ask you again. What will it take for you to trust her?”

“If she can get us out of here, she will have earned my trust. I can accept nothing less.”

“Very well then, I’ll just go let her know,” Bilbo huffed, but before he could replace the ring on his finger, a gentle touch to his elbow stopped him.

Thorin pointedly did not make eye contact as he withdrew his hand and sighed. “Please. Stay. It is too quiet down here, so far from the others.”

Something in Bilbo softened and he pulled his hand out of his pocket, leaving the ring concealed, and settled his back to Thorin’s with the door between them. Bilbo sat there, dreaming of pies and tarts he could make once he returned to the Shire, until the sound of guards coming down the steps startled him from the peaceful quiet that had fallen between them. 

* * *

Fili had jostled Tirnalil awake beside him at the sound of hurried footsteps that morning. Time running short as it was, the elf-prince Legolas had been the one to stumble upon them, and for a moment Fili was not certain whether he should be glad for it. He held his breath for a long moment, unwilling to separate himself from Tirnalil’s side.

Finally, Legolas knelt by the dragon and smoothed her hair behind her ears with both hands, whispering something in their shared tongue. He ran a hand down her arm and very gently pulled her free from Fili, but he did not remark on it. He simply nodded to the dwarf inside the cell and led Tirnalil down the path, to where Thorin sat in isolation.

When the pair had moved sufficiently far enough from Fili’s cell, Legolas spun the dragon to face him but kept his grip tight around her upper arms.

“Do you love him, the dwarf?” he asked bluntly.

“I cannot say. I feel like I am being pulled in too many directions at once, to the shadow in the south, to the east, to the mountain, but when I am with him, it is quiet for the first time.”

Legolas released a long exhale and released her from his grip. “Then truly there is nothing I can do to stop it, but even I can see that it is not a cure for what ails you. Speak with the dwarf-king. My father’s patience is not without limit, and you are nearly at yours.”

Tirnalil rushed to close the gap between them and press her face into the soft folds of his tunic. “Thank you, brother.”

From there, it was a matter of a few steps before she stood in front of the rightful King Under the Mountain. Where Fili appeared vulnerable without his armor, Thorin had lost very little of his imposing edge. Although he did not stand to greet her, he did not spit at her feet as had been his custom for so long. Instead, he regarded her for a long moment, dark brows furrowed as his cold blue eyes swept over her form. Tirnalil forced herself to remain standing.

Something about her must have satisfied him because finally he broke his gaze and leaned his head back against his cell wall, speaking in his deep, rumbling voice, “If you can answer me honestly, I may be more inclined to consider your king’s proposals as more than empty words.”

She tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowed. “Will you trust my answers as the truth?”

“Swear it on the bead on your wrist. Then I shall believe you,” he sighed, sounding as tired as she felt.

She crossed her arm over her chest so that Fili’s bead rested over her heart. “You have my word.”

“On the cliff, you froze when you saw Azog. Why?” His eyes slid over to her in time to see her freeze again at the mention of the cliff.

“I thought he was his father, or his father before him. Before I came to the elves, I was held captive in Gundabad. I do not remember my life before the dragon, if I ever had one, but I remember the face of a pale orc when I woke up for the first time. Orcs of his line had always sought dominion over the dragon, and perhaps they had it for however long it was before I broke free. All I can remember is pain when I see his face.”

“You have no memory of what you did as the dragon?”

“None. If you wish to hold me in contempt for things I cannot recall, I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do to take it back, though I wish I could. I wish this had never happened to me, but I cannot change what I am. All I can do is hope that I can make things right.”

“Thank you for your candor. You have given me much to consider.”

“Will you speak with my king?” she asked, already half-turned to leave.

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

Tirnalil nodded. It was a better answer than a curse. As she climbed up the stairs, she did not stop again at Fili’s cell. She passed by with little more than a brush of her fingers against his wrapped around one of the bars. She continued up past Kili and Tauriel, who had fallen silent at her approach. The she-elf stretched out a hand to catch Tirnalil’s, but the dragon stepped out of the way and hurried out of her reach. The she-elf and the dwarf shared a glance, but remained where they were. If the dragon did not wish to be bothered, then they would not force the issue. They could guess well enough what troubled its thoughts.

After Tirnalil left, Bilbo reappeared before the king, a stoic expression on his face. “Do you still doubt her commitment?”

Thorin didn’t even flinch at the hobbit’s arrival, but he did approach the cell door to gaze upon his friend more closely. “I can admit that she spoke honestly, but I cannot accept anything but a fair deal from the Elvenking.”

The hobbit stomped one large, hairy foot against the stone and jabbed Thorin in the chest with a finger, wagging it in the dwarf’s face once he stepped back to avoid more jobs. “Yavanna help us, Thorin, you are not in a position to decide what’s fair. You are at his mercy, and you will risk the lives of all your company over your pride!”

“What am I supposed to do? What kind of king will I be if I can be bowled over by that tree-hugger?”

“Thorin, what has he even asked you for in return for your freedom?”

“There are white gems, set in shining silver, called the gems of Lasgalen. He has asked for them as payment for his aid.”

“You would rather die here than give him a trinket?”

“Those  _ trinkets  _ are worth more than you can imagine.”

“Clearly if you will not exchange them for your own freedom.”

“Bilbo.”

“Thorin.”

They glowered at each other for several long moments before finally the king broke first and retreated to his bed. He sat at its edge with his head in his hands. “Fine. I will meet with the Elvenking.”

Trust Bilbo to not be satisfied by those words alone, he continued to berate the dwarf. “You need to agree to what he asks, Thorin. Exchange the gems for your freedom. Surely there is enough wealth in the mountain to make up for it.”

It was not about wealth, not at its heart, but the hobbit was not wrong. There was more wealth in the mountain than Thorin honestly knew what to do with beyond repaying old debts. But the gems of Lasgalen were not a debt they needed to repay, it was a debt they were owed.

* * *

Fili tried not to comment on Tirnalil’s appearance, so grateful for her company, he would not risk it for fear of offending her, but she had changed from their first morning on opposite sides of the cell door. Where she had once been full of life, now she had more in common with a corpse than the living, breathing elves around them. So dark were the circles beneath her eyes, so pale was her normally olive-toned skin, so sunken were her cheeks. More of their time together was spent holding her hand through the bars or stroking her hair than talking. She had so little energy left for words most mornings. While he had come to see every moment as a blessing, he could not halt the worry from growing in his heart.

Fili squeezed her hand one such morning and pressed his lips to her knuckles to wake her, the beads in his mustache tickling the skin there. “It is the forest, the poison?” he asked in a quiet voice, eyes on the bead around her wrist.

She did not open her eyes, but instead turned her body away from him, forcing their hands apart as she curled into a ball on the floor. “Yes. Every day it gets worse. Every night is a terror I fear I will never wake from.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? I know I am in here, but I would call you a friend now, if you would have me.”

“There is one thing you can do even from inside that cell,” she started, but her voice was broken, breaking, stuttering with barely restrained tears.

Fili stretched out both hands to pull her into a hug, or as close as they could get to one with the door in the way. He pressed his lips to her hair once before he tucked her head under his chin. “Anything.”

“I need you to promise me,” she whispered in that painfully broken voice, and his heart ached to hear it, “you have to promise that you will kill me if I lose control. I hate to put this at your feet, but I am afraid of what I might do if I failed.”

“You have it, Tir. You have my word. I will grant you a good death if that time comes,” he swore and squeezed her tight.

Fili kept her in his arms until they were forced to part by the arrival of breakfast, and all he could do was hope that he had given her the peace of mind she so desperately needed. She had mentioned some time ago that after their meetings at dawn, she would go down to Thorin to request that he reconsider his position and answer to Thranduil. For her sake, he hoped that today would be the day his uncle saw reason. He hoped that today they might be released from captivity to continue with their quest. While they were able to rest safely and replenish their energy, they could not stay forever.

Tirnalil didn’t have forever. But neither would she leave them.

He prayed to Mahal that today would be the day of their escape.

When night came, Tirnalil received an unexpected visitor to her courtyard. The Elvenking appeared in the doorway, silver robes and white-blonde hair both shining in the moonlight. She bowed her head to him and opened up her wing in invitation.

He raised a hand to stop her before tucking his hands back into his sleeves in front of him.

“You are fading,  _ dilthen tinu _ ,” Thranduil spoke softly and stood before the white dragon, stopping just shy of the edge of its bed. “I have prayed to the Valar that I would not lose you to a fool’s quest, but it seems that I will lose you just the same for keeping you here, all because of the stubbornness of dwarves.”

She stretched her neck to the sky and breathed deep, drawing in the scent of the flowers overhead, before she met his gaze again, her sorrow in the black pools evident even in the dark. “You already know what he plans to do, my king. Thorin wishes to enter the mountain. Why must you hear it from him?”

“Tirnalil, there is much you do not understand of the feud between elves and dwarves. I could offer the dwarves aid to retake the mountain, I could offer them aid to slaughter the orcs which hunt them, but I will not put my own people at risk with nothing in return.”

“You are right. I do not understand the divide between your people and the dwarves, but one of you  _ must  _ budge. My time here is reaching its end.”

“I am an elf. I can wait. Tomorrow, that will be his final chance to speak with me. I have given him more chances than any other trespasser in my kingdom, and I am at the end of my patience.”

Tirnalil’s jaw hardened. He’d made his choice. And cemented hers.

“Thank you, my Lord, for your hospitality. I would like to be left alone now.”

Thranduil’s robes swished against the floor with nary a sound as he turned and left the dragon to its thoughts. If he would not be moved to pardon the dwarf of whatever imagined slight sat between them, then Tirnalil had few options left to her. Come the morning, she would make her final attempt to convince the dwarf-king to bend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading. Please give kudos or leave comments. They make me happy. :)
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this so far. The next couple chapters are nearly done, still scraping together the last chapters. Hoping to keep roughly to this once weekly schedule no matter what.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dungeons and dragons....dragons escape dungeons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof between editing photos from the last event, I havent had a ton of time to work on this fic, but here we are!
> 
> I'm just floored to be over 200 hits!

Tirnalil’s sleep was not nearly as restful as she had hoped, for her body was so wrought with exhaustion that it required Tauriel to rapidly shake her by the shoulders for several minutes. Visions of dragon-fire and giant spiders the size of cities had plagued her through the night. Nearly four weeks had passed since the dwarves had been taken prisoner in Mirkwood with little to show for it beyond the growing camaraderie between the princes and their companions amongst the elves.

"What is it?" She mumbled, blinking the last threads of sleep from her eyes until she recognized that the elf was currently in the process of throwing her cloak and a mish mash of traveling clothes at her. She frowned when she saw the sun had fully risen. She had meant to speak with Thorin before he met with Thranduil.

Tauriel’s next words confirmed what she had feared.

"The dwarf-king lost his chance to free his kin. We must free them ourselves. I know King Thranduil fears for you; you cannot stay here, nor can you leave them to their fate. I will speak to Kili. You speak with Fili. There will be a celebration tonight. Thranduil will not be looking for you, we know that, so it will be up to you to see them outside. I cannot go with them. Not yet. We will tell them the plan now and use the rest of the time to secure food, weapons, anything we can get out of the palace without being caught."

"Thank you, Tauriel," Tirnalil cooed, wrapping her arms around the elf's waist once she was respectable enough to discard the heavy cloak. "Sleep is becoming harder to find the longer I am here and harder to wake from when I do find it. There is a dark power to the south, I can feel it even now, a cold sharpness with every breath."

Tauriel frowned, but quickly schooled her face back to steel. "Find Fili. We will take supplies to where the river meets the lake. That is where they will find them."

Tirnalil wrapped the body of the sleeping dragonling in its usual sling she wore over one shoulder and made her way to the cells.

She did not often look into mirrors, too afraid of seeing the dragon looking back at her, but she must have had awful bags under her eyes because Fili hesitantly reached out a hand to touch her cheek. To her credit she did not flinch away from the touch, though her whole body vibrated with the need to run.

"I would have thought a ward of the elf-king would be able to find more rest here than a prisoner on a stone bed," he chuckled at long last. “How is it that Lord Thranduil’s ward appears worse than I?”

"Do you remember the poison in the forest? It’s getting stronger, Fili. I cannot stay another night here. That is why we are going to free you. You are the only one in your company who does not fear me so you must lead them. There will be supplies, food, and weapons for you to take with you to the mountain hidden at the mouth of the river where it meets the lake."

"What about you? Will you come with us?"

"I will follow, but scouts have reported wargs in the forest. I will do what I can to lead them away and buy you time, but you _must_ make it to the mouth of the river."

"Thank you, Tir," Fili whispered fervently, gripping her hand tightly. "You do not know how much this aid means to me, to us."

Tirnalil smiled weakly, but it did not reach her eyes. "I do not have all the details yet, but you will not spend another night in this cell, I swear."

By chance she stepped back at the same moment an unseen creature passed behind her. A startled yelp and the shuffle of bare feet caused her to strike out with an arm, catching a fold of cloth at exactly the right moment. She'd had her suspicions that something strange was afoot. She simply hadn't been able to shake the feeling that she was being watched.

"Show yourself," she said plainly.

"Hello," uttered the forgotten hobbit sheepishly as he rematerialized in front of them.

"I should have guessed when the apple core appeared on a plate that certainly had not been brought down with an apple," she muttered more to herself than to either the hobbit or the dwarf. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know that you are trying to help. I am trusted by the others of the company, and I can pass unseen. Allow me to tell them of your plan to free them, and it will go much more smoothly, I can almost certainly promise you. Thorin will think you are leading them into another trap, forget that Fili's gone and- oh, bother, I wasn't supposed to mention that."

"Bilbo," Fili grumbled.

Bilbo stamped his foot and gestured vaguely in Tirnalil’s direction before wagging a finger at Fili, who merely rolled his eyes. "Thorin told me you gave her a bead. She doesn't know what it means."

"I gave Tir the bead to prove that she had my trust. That should be good enough for him."

Bilbo huffed and wriggled out of Tirnalil's grasp. "Now is not the time, but your uncle told me that if I had the chance, to tell you that you could have picked another bead. Now, Tirnalil, can I tell the others or not? Trust me, they do not know the meaning of the word stealth, but given enough time, I may be able to convince them to try."

"Then go, but impress upon them the need to appear as though nothing has changed. We cannot tip off any of the elves to our plan,” Tirnalil instructed.

Then the hobbit was gone without a trace beyond the sound of his feet against the stone, only audible to her infinitely more sensitive ears. She let a long moment pass between them before she looked at Fili again. She wanted so badly to ask what Bilbo meant, but the hobbit was right. Now was not the time.

"Tir," the dwarf started cautiously.

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Not now. Later."

Then she too disappeared from the cells, darting back up to the front gates where Tauriel was already waiting with a single horse. While Tirnalil could ride any horse from Mirkwood or Imladris, the chestnut mare was the only one who routinely offered herself up when she entered the stable. The elf wore a heavy cloak, heavier than her usual style and large packs had been strapped to the back of the saddle. Tauriel mounted the mare first and helped to pull Tirnalil up behind her before urging it forward to the gate where they were stopped by the guards.

"The air is too heavy here. I'm taking Tirnalil to the edge of the Lake where the poison does not feel so heavy," Tauriel explained.

Finding her excuse satisfactory, they allowed the pair to pass, and Tauriel spurred the mare forward into the trees. It was not a complete lie, either. The air would be lighter at the Lake, but only just so. Still, it was a much needed break from the oppressive weight of the poison that lingered in the trees, nevermind that they were on a mission to save some dwarves.

They walked side by side, Tauriel leading the mare over the loose pebbles along the water’s edge, as they followed the curvature of the river. They needed to find where the current lost its intensity and where the dwarves would most likely be able to be stopped, far from the reach of the elves. Not far from where the river met the lake, the river calmed and Tirnalil found a bend in the river where, for several feet, it was only ankle deep.

Together they wove a net of branches to place over the packs Tauriel managed to smuggle out of the elvish fortress and marked it with a single arrow. Kili's archer-keen eyes would spot it instantly as long as they got through the river gate and carried on downstream. Tirnalil did not ask how Tauriel had successfully gathered up the dwarves’ traveling clothes and all their weapons without being discovered. Some things were better left unsaid. Also, the satchel that contained all of Fili’s knives outweighed the one containing Nori’s, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to know where they all went. Satisfied that the packs were safely hidden, Tauriel turned to her companion and found her staring across the lake at the shadow of the mountain, large enough it was visible even through the dense fog. It would burn off as the sun rose higher, but for now, it made for an impressive sight.

"I came across their hobbit companion," Tirnalil admitted, "when I was talking to Fili. He will tell the rest of the company that we are helping them to escape tonight. I promised Fili I would return with the full details of the plan, but have we even decided how we are going to smuggle thirteen dwarves out of Mirkwood?"

"Kili had told me there was another member of the company, a burglar," Tauriel laughed and made her way back towards the mare. "He must be very skilled indeed if he managed to avoid our detection these past few weeks. That is good because we may need his aid to cause a distraction to draw the guards out of the wine cellar. There will be enough empty barrels because of the festival tonight that one dwarf can hide in each. The guard at the river gate will be lighter as well, so you should be able to disarm whoever is posted and keep the gate open."

Tirnalil finally tore her eyes away from the mountain. "I thought _I_ was going to be running a distraction to draw any orc packs away from the river."

The she-elf began to walk backwards with all the grace of her people over stones and sticks so that she could continue to watch the dragon’s reactions. "If we do not time this correctly, it will be daylight and you will be vulnerable. I will not take that risk. _I_ will draw them off, but _you_ must go with the dwarves. King Thranduil will already be displeased with me for allowing them to escape, but a worse punishment than death will await me if I allowed any harm to come to you because of it."

"I wish no harm to come to either of us," Tirnalil whined but followed Tauriel back to their unburdened mare.

Their return trip took more time than they’d expected on account of Tirnalil’s failing health the further they went into the shadows of the tall trees. At one point, just before they lost sight of the lake and the mountain, Tirnalil hopped down from the horse’s back and stood stock still, staring out into the far distance, her breathing slow and even. When Tauriel jumped down to bring her back, she recoiled for just a moment. While Tirnalil’s eyes had always been dark, for a second Tauriel could have sworn she’d been looking into the dragon’s eyes, the black so complete it consumed the sclera as well. But then she blinked, and Tirnalil blinked back, the whites of her eyes framing dark brown irises.

Just as before, they were met with no resistance from the guards, no suspicion. Tauriel returned with Tirnalil to the courtyard and held her close. The elf kissed the dragon’s forehead then released her from the hug.

“Get your rest, then get ready. I will get them out safely, I swear.”

She would keep the secret of the subtle change to Tirnalil’s eyes to herself. They were so close to the end of her suffering in the woods. Tirnalil would escape with the dwarves, and she would be free of the forest’s influence. Whatever was giving the dragon power over her, requiring all of her attention to remain herself, surely it would falter once she was free. Tauriel did not need Thranduil to keep her under closer observation, not now.

They simply had to liberate the dwarves first.

* * *

Their success would come down to two things in the end, Tirnalil realized, while running through it one final time with Tauriel. One, they would need the dwarves to be absolutely quiet and compliant so as not to draw attention to themselves on the descent to the wine cellars. Tirnalil still expected resistance from the dwarf-king, even though the she-elf and the dragon were their only allies within Mirkwood. Despite having Legolas’s favor, he would not speak of their plan, but he would not provide direct aid. Two, if they were right to suspect the orcs would be waiting for them, Tauriel would be hard pressed to both lure them away and to keep them away, especially once the orcs realized it was a diversion.

Nevermind the fact that Tirnalil would have to entrust the safety of the dwarves within Mirkwood completely to their burglar while she made herself scarce outside the fortress walls before nightfall. Thranduil would never let her leave if she attempted to make her own escape in the form of the dragon. They needed stealth for this to work, but the dwarves could only leave after the party was in full swing. Elves took most of the night to reach even a semblance of drunkenness so easily achieved by Men. It would be a long night for all of them.

Discovering traveling clothes of a better make than what Beorn had given her, Tirnalil filled her sling with clothes and covered pieces of lembas bread. She bit her lip in thought and folded in a pair of long knives, the same style as what Legolas used for close combat, the same as what he’d trained her to use when she first came to live with them. She traced the inlaid stripes of gold, patterned after leaves, and content that they would not stab her in her flight from the palace, set the sleeping dragonling on top before strapping the whole thing closed. It was more than she typically carried in her daytime form, but she could not be promised another day of good provisions. Being so close now to the Lonely Mountain, she could not even be promised that Thorin would stop until he reached it.

She met Tauriel in the courtyard where she spent most of her recovery all those years ago and gathered her into a tight hug. The elf stroked her hair and squeezed her shoulders before holding her out at arm’s length.

“No one is watching the southern gate. If you go now, you’ll miss the change of the watch. Wait by the riverbank for the barrels and try to stay out of sight.” Tauriel smiled crookedly before hugging her once more. “I will ride out behind you as soon as I can, but it’s up to you to make sure the river gate is opened.”

One last squeeze of her hands and Tauriel released her dearest friend, and Tirnalil would leave without telling her king she was leaving. She would never hear the end of it if they made it out alive and returned to Mirkwood.

Several hours passed, but despite her earlier departure and subsequent absence from the night’s festivities, none had gone searching for the dragon. She remained safely tucked away in a little hollow in the soft earth by the river, concealed by the large ferns that thrived on the mist churned up by the rapids, rapids for which they would need to apologize. It would not be a smooth ride to freedom.

It was a long night before the sound of barrels knocking against the boulders jutting out of the water and the following muffled groans and curses alerted her to the arrival of the dwarves. Tauriel had been right to prevent Tirnalil from running interference the way she had. If she’d been caught at the cusp of dawn by the orcs who no doubt still hunted them, she would be killed or worse, taken back to wherever foul places they dwelled. As it was, knowing that they were safe enough in the barrels, she could only hurry onwards to the river gate.

As Tauriel had warned her, only two elves were at the gate when she crept up through the greenery around the stone structure. She didn’t like to do it, but while she didn’t spout flames, she did still have the dragon’s gift of its stare. A soft exhalation drew their attention towards her, and she watched them, unblinking, as they slowly, slowly slumped forward asleep, sprawled across the dirt at the base of the bridge. Careful to avoid an accidental bite, she lifted both by the edges of their tunics and carried them to the base of a tree some yards away from the river, reared up, and placed them up as high as she could safely reached and secure them. They were elves, they would be able to get down eventually under their own power with little threat to themselves, but it would take them long enough to wake and climb down that hopefully she and the dwarves would be gone by then.

On her way back to the gate, she thought it would be best to guard it now that she removed the only active guards, rather than travel back upstream to look for the dwarves, so, digging herself another shallow hollow in the earth, she settled in for what would hopefully be a brief wait.

She had already redressed in her daylight form when she heard the shouts. It was barely more than an hour after the first light of dawn, but the day waited for no man, elf, or dwarf.

Tirnalil rose from her hollow and dropped back into it in time to avoid the black shaft of an orc’s arrow that had been aimed at her head. She had really hoped she wouldn’t have to call upon her training with the twin blades, but no time like the present to put old skills to the test. She charged the orc and surprisingly easily took it down and silenced it. She turned back to the river and scanned the forest on either side for movement. An orc scout this far down the river meant the rest could not be far behind, but she could not risk losing control of the bridge and the river gate by abandoning it to look for them. All she could do was wait and depend on her dragon’s senses to keep her safe from unseen archers.

The dragon’s keener hearing saved her from an unpleasant death by another archer and one frenzied attack by a warhammer-wielding orc, but the whistle of an elf’s arrow alerted her to the first in a long line of orcs making their way to the bridge. The blonde archer who released it dropped down onto the bridge beside her, nudging her with their elbow even as they took aim and fired rapidly into the incoming orc pack, each arrow finding its mark with a horrid squelch as it pierced the flesh.

“I should be upset to find you here, or surprised, but I am neither,” Legolas teased her. “I am only impressed that you have not lost all of your skills with your knives in your absence.”

“What of your father?” she asked with a frown when the blood spray from the neck wound she’d inflicted on the orc sprayed back at her in its dying thrashes. 

“He knows a dragon’s will is its own,” Legolas answered diplomatically after a long silence broken only by the grunts and squeals of dying orcs around them. “Duck.”

She did, and he fired an arrow that pierced the skulls of three orcs in succession. He released another into the distance at an archer trying and failing to hide behind one of the trees, the long spines of its armor catching the sunlight like a beacon.

“Tauriel is leading reinforcements this way. We have orders to bar the gate and prevent the dwarves from leaving, but perhaps we were delayed by the orcs and the dwarves had already passed through. Whatever happens, whatever the dwarf plans to do in Erebor, whatever fell creature he releases from the mountain, you must promise that you will come back. You cannot risk your life for these dwarves.”

“A dragon’s will is its own,” she echoed him in a steely voice, cutting into a nearby orc with more force than was strictly necessary. She wiped the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I do not intend to die, nor do I intend to let them walk to their deaths.”

Legolas shook his head but said nothing. Together they fought back to back against the never ending flow of orcs, seemingly for hours, until finally a horn sounded, the sound bright and hopeful. Reinforcements had come. From the trees at either side, arrows flew, and orcs dropped dead before Tirnalil could reach them with her knives. Among those in the trees, she could Tauriel’s red hair like a streak of fire in the sunlight. She joined Tirnalil and Legolas on the bridge and threw an arm around Tirnalil’s shoulders, an iron grip on her upper arm.

“Forgive me, sister.” 

She must have made some signal to Legolas because next thing Tirnalil knew, her knives were secured to her back, and she plunged into the river below. She surfaced gasping for air and tried to find the bridge between blinking the water out of her eyes, but the current was too strong. A large hand caught her by the hood of her cloak, pulling the clasp at her throat tight, and for a moment, she fought to remove one of her knives to fight, but a familiar voice stopped her.

Shaky from the cold, Bilbo shouted at her, “Sorry we’re late. Rapids ahead, you should hold on.”

Curling her fingers tight around the lip of the barrel, she finally took a breath to look at whose barrel she’d latched onto. Her eyes widened to find Thorin staring back at her, bright blue eyes ablaze, brows pulled together, making the crease between them even more prominent. Oh, she’d hoped she’d have a little more time to let his anger simmer down before she had to apologize herself for the manner of their escape. Bilbo had agreed that the dwarves would not have followed them into the barrels if he’d told them about the rapids. 

They did not have the time for apologies or any other exchange of words before the barrels were tossed against the rocks and the steep riverbanks. It took every ounce of her flagging strength to hang on, and indeed, more than once, Thorin had to plunge his arm into the frothy water to keep her from being dragged under. From what little she could see, Bilbo experienced a similar struggle, but he’d had the good fortune to be attached to Kili’s barrel. The young prince did a very good job of keeping the hobbit’s head above water even if his grip failed. 

After another age it seemed, the current slowed as the river broadened and emptied into the Long Lake, and Bilbo and Tirnalil worked together to push the barrels towards the shore where the barrels could be tipped over.

Dori seemed only half-alive when he was freed from his barrel, Gloin in a similar state, and both needed to be dragged the rest of the way out of the water, pushing Bilbo and Tirnalil to the limits of their strength. Bombur had been knocked around senseless, but Tirnalil did not attempt to carry him out, settling instead for rolling him, barrel and all, the rest of the way onto the shore. Fili and Kili, having tipped themselves over, helped the large dwarf free himself from his confines and together beat his back until he coughed up the large amount of water he’d ingested. 

Bifur and Bofur, Tirnalil could have kicked if she had the spare energy to do so, for even though they had escaped the rapids with their clothes the driest of the lot, they lay on their backs and refused to help her with their companions. The twin glares she received from the brothers Balin and Dwalin stalled her before she could even ask for their help. Thorin she did not even approach.

Her eyes met a certain blonde dwarf’s as he emptied water from his boots at the shore, but she shook her head. Now that everyone had been freed, they needed to be armed. Drained and bruised, she stumbled over the rocks, her feet slipping out from under her, but before he could rise to her aid, she grasped trembling hands around Tauriel’s arrow. She dragged the meshwork of leaves and branches with what little strength she still had and without a word, started to distribute the packs and weapons.

Stunned to silence, none of them spoke until she finally collapsed onto her side at the edge of the water, just beyond the reach of its gentle waves. Chest heaving, she curled up into a ball as tight as she could, tucking her head away from the light, as if it could silence the roar of her heartbeat. Weak as she was, even though they had escaped the reach of the darkness in the forest, the dragon fought for control. She fought back with everything she had left to give.

“Thank you.”

She had to resist the keen desire to shut her eyes and instead kept them open to look at the dwarf-king, brows furrowed. She had to have imagined it.

Thorin had just resheathed Orcrist at his hip and stepped towards her with his head deeply bowed. Behind him, Bilbo’s mouth quirked into a small smile. The dragon had done as he’d asked, though he had not voiced his request to her. Free them from the elves, and she would have his trust.

“Thank you,” he repeated, more loudly so the rest of the members of his company raised their heads on hearing it. “We owe you a great debt for your help, but this day is not yet over. We cannot stop here.”

She gave in and shut her eyes, but she rolled onto her front in an attempt to get her legs under her so that she might stand. Two sets of hands on either arm stopped her, but she was too weak to open her eyes again to see who it was. A surreptitious press of lips to the side of her head just above her ear gave her a bit of an idea though.

“Fili, Kili, help her stand,” Thorin commanded in his deep kingly voice. It sounded like an order, but given that they’d already had a hold of her, she suspected he only asked as much to maintain the semblance of being in control of his nephews. “We make for Laketown.”

The tired grunts of the company followed, but before they could make it more than a quarter mile down the shoreline, they were stopped again and Tirnalil nearly fell out of the princes’ grasps. She forced herself to look and frowned at the arrowhead directed at them. It was one thing to be threatened by an elf whose aim was unparalleled, but she did not like to be threatened by men whose aim was less reliable. They were not as skilled at treading the line between incapacitating and inconveniencing. 

She drifted in and out of consciousness while Balin stepped up to speak with the man and allowed herself the small comfort of leaning against Fili’s leg. She’d been graciously allowed to sit until Balin could secure passage for them across the lake. From what little she could see when she managed to open her eyes long enough, this man was tall, even for his kin, with shaggy brown hair that, damp, hung to just brush against the shoulders of a coat that looked several seasons past its prime, and keener eyes than she’d credited him for. The arrow he kept aimed directly at Thorin. His arms did not waver for a second. She’d picked up on the word “barge” once or twice, but little else.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s the only way to get you past the Master’s men,” Bard, that was his name, declared with finality and lowered his weapons. “You don’t have enough barrels for all of you. What of that one? Can she stand?”

“She’s too weak to stay here undefended,” Fili answered. He rubbed her upper arm, and she glanced up at him, before shutting her eyes again.

“But she cannot go to Laketown,” Balin reminded him, then turned back to the bargeman. “Perhaps Dale?”

The man shook his head as if he’d misheard them, the frown on his face deepening with his growing dislike of the dwarves. “There is nothing left of Dale but ruins. You would send your weakest to a place without shelter?”

Now Thorin spoke up in an unexpected defense of the dragon. “No, Master Bard, you confuse her exhaustion now for weakness. Get her to what remains of Dale before nightfall, and perhaps you will come to understand. For now, we need passage across the lake. Do you agree to the terms of payment?”

“Aye, I do.”

“Then we have no more time to waste. Everybody, in. Fili, get her onboard.”

Fili climbed into the barrels last after making sure Tirnalil was comfortably propped up against the stern of the barge. Neither one particularly liked the separation, especially considering the part where Bard said they would need to sneak past the Master’s men. Without a barrel to hide inside, Tirnalil’s only protection was her Elvish traveling cloak. However, when he peered through one of the holes in the barrel left by an arrow, he only saw a bundle of nets. 

The barge was pushed away from the shore with a lurch before the current caught it. Bard steered it along, and Tirnalil watched from under the cover of her cloak as he steered them through the dense fog and to the docks. Some of the coin Gloin had passed to him exchanged hands with a fisherman, who swiftly opened his bulging nets over the barrels, filling them to the brim and more with freshly caught fish. Suddenly she was quite glad not to be in the same predicament, despite knowing that she would be forced to stay back in Dale.

They passed slowly down the narrow channels between the rickety, altogether unsteady looking wooden homes built onto the platform above the water. Each one looked one good, stiff breeze away from falling apart. They were finally stopped as they passed through the tollgate by a greasy-looking man who demanded papers and a license from Bard, who supplied them with a sour look. When his eyes swept over the barge, for a moment they paused over her, and Tirnalil shivered subconsciously. No, the enchantment would hold, she would not be found.

“You only have a license here for barrels from the Woodland Realm, not fish!” the ferret cried loudly and gestured to the men at his sides. “Tip them over the sides. The Master will hear about this, _bargeman_.”

“Aye, the Master will hear about this. He will hear of the suffering of his people when they learn it was by the Master’s order that all this good fish be wasted,” came the sharp reply. 

With a grimace that did not help to make his face any less like a ferret’s, the greasy worm of a man halted his men from emptying more of the barrels. “Watch your tongue, bargeman. We’re keeping an eye on you. Move. Along.”

“Aye, then you can tell his spies I’m done for the day,” Bard grunted and took the papers back before he continued to move the barge through the town.

Finally, the barge stopped moving and Bard regarded the bundle of nets for a moment before kicking over the first of the barrels, emptying it of its fish and of its dwarf. He did the same to the remainder of them without speaking, only gesturing towards a house and the water. They would have to swim in that nasty, murky water if they wanted to enter it unseen. No, Tirnalil really did not envy them.

When it came to Fili’s barrel, however, she heard a whispered quarrel between the man and the dwarf until he righted it and tossed a ratty cloth over its exposed top. Then he knelt by Tirnalil, taking care to look as though he was toying with the laces of his boots.

“That one, Fili, says he will accompany you to Dale and back into Laketown in the morning. Stay here. I have to get the rest of them situated inside before I can take you both to the ruins.”

When he left, she crept close enough to the barrel to punch it. Frowning, she met Fili’s eye through the hole in the wood.

“You need dry clothes, you idiot. You should be with your brother and your uncle. I don’t need you to come with me,” she whisper-shouted, emphasizing her point by repeated punches to the wood as she finished.

“I’m not coming along because you need me. I’m coming with you because my uncle needs me, and as much as he thinks he can oust the dragon himself, he will not do it without me and Kili beside him. It’s all very important, reclaiming Erebor as the sons of Durin. He won’t leave town without me, therefore he will not attempt to leave without you.” 

Tirnalil cocked her head to one side. “I was under the impression that he wouldn’t try to leave without me.”

Fili chuckled and shook his head, some of his beads knocking against the inside of the barrel.

“One would hope so, but my uncle is nothing if not stubborn. I couldn’t take the risk,” he admitted.

“Nor could you say as much to his face. You are lucky Bard didn’t knock you overboard first.”

“If you two are done with your little spat, I’m going to make for Dale while Alfrid is still at the docks,” Bard cut in suddenly and dropped a large bundle at the back of the barge. “Thorin is not a very kind dwarf, but he would not let me take you to Dale without a change of clothes and some provisions.”

The trip back through the fog was quiet, and they met no one on their way. The waves rocked the barge underfoot, but it was stable enough for Tirnalil to step down by herself. Filli hopped down beside her and accepted the sack from Bard. Tirnalil stepped away and ducked behind a tree, cold fingers fumbling to get the laces undone before Fili could come over to see what she was doing. The cold was not much better for having stripped out of her wet clothes, leaving her shivering under the cloak with nothing else, when she rejoined the boys. Her fists held the cloth tightly against her body, her teeth chattering.

“How will you get to Laketown in the morning?” asked the man.

“A ride would be nice, but we can give you no payment beyond the promise of a share from within the mountain,” Fili shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes were locked on Tirnalil who had already removed the sling from her back and propped it up against a tree.

“Fili, Bard, you two should stay here. I won’t be long,” she told them, eyes downcast and voice quiet. “Please don’t try to watch.”

Confused, Bard opened his mouth, but Fili shook his head to silence him.

“We’ll wait.”

She nodded and went back up the little hill, behind a particularly dense cluster of trees, and let the dragon overwhelm her senses. Without the threat of orcs and wargs after them, it was much easier to stay in control of the transformation so it passed more smoothly than it had in a while. She shook herself and let her cloak slip from her shoulders and onto the ground, delicately nudging it into a ball with the tip of her snout.

“You can come now,” she spoke softly. The dragon’s voice was loud enough she knew it would carry down to the others. Until they reached her, she could stretch like a cat in the meantime and return her bag to its place around her neck.

“How is this possible?” Bard asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but she had to give him credit for not running back to the barge once he crested the small hill.

“A curse from Morgoth, one last relic of the War of Wrath,” she huffed and lowered her head to her crossed forepaws. She stretched out her one wing to draw his eye to where its partner was missing. “And a gift from the orcs when it was discovered that I would not bend to his will.”

“I don’t believe it. You’re a _dragon_?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“If you were born after the War of Wrath, why now? What kept you from aiding us before when the dragon, Smaug, destroyed Dale? What good is another dragon after the damage has already been done? What good can possibly come of this? Thorin could not possibly hope to overthrow the dragon himself without an entire army at his back. What good is one dragon against Smaug? What good is one _crippled_ dragon against him? How can you hope to stand against the fire-drake?” Bard’s voice grew louder and louder with each question until Fili put a stop to it, making a point to leave Bard’s side and stand at Tirnalil’s.

Tirnalil’s heart broke under the onslaught. 

Fighting against the tears, she curled her tail about her, mindful of the blades and pressed herself against the ground to make herself appear smaller. “I have lived most of my life under the watchful eye of Lord Elrond. I did not learn of Smaug’s destruction until many months afterwards. Any aid I could have provided then would have been turned away, the wounds of your people too fresh. Even now, you do not trust me.”

Bard scowled but did not refute her.

Tirnalil rose to her full height before making a dramatic show of bowing to the bargeman, ducking her head between one outstretched foreleg and one tucked under her chest. “I have never seen Smaug, but I will make the same promise to you that I have made to Fili and to Thorin. If it is at the cost of my life, so be it, but I would give it freely in your defense.”

“Aye, and you have my thanks for it. But let us hope that your dwarf-king has a sensible enough head on his shoulders that it does not come to that,” Bard said finally and nodded his head towards them both. “I will retrieve you in the morning.”

With that, he left them to a night amongst the ruins. 

Tirnalil let herself relax, uncoiling her long tail and stretched out her wing with an open-mouthed and incredibly toothy yawn. A white glow emanated from her chest as she did so and faded when she settled her head back down. Fili set about making a fire from what sticks he could gather nearby in the moonlight filtered by the bare branches overhead. He was not nearly as skilled at starting fires as Gloin, but he finally managed to get the smaller sticks to light, fanning them until the larger ones caught above them.

Without looking at her, he asked, “Your chest, when it glows like that, does it mean you can breathe fire? The old stories about the Last Alliance said that all the great dragons bred by Morgoth were capable of it, but I’ve never seen you do it.”

She exhaled heavily, her breath stirring up the leaves and nearly knocking him over with the force behind it. “To be honest, I’ve never tried, not really. The last time I did, I only remember bits and pieces of it, but some part of me feels like breathing fire gives up too much of myself over to the dragon’s power. I think I was still in the Woodland Realm the last time it happened. I was moved to Imladris not long after that.”

Once the fire had grown to a large enough size to warm a small circle around them, Fili finally set about changing into the dry clothes Bard had brought for them, by grabbing them up and then not necessarily stomping, but not walking quietly either, behind a nearby bush. Dwarves really didn’t know a thing about stealth.

“If you want to be warm while you change, you know you can ask me to cover my eyes,” Tirnalil sing-songed over the crackle of the fire, then made a point of stretching her wing over her head. She kept her eyes hidden behind the leather of her wings until Fili cleared his throat. When she folded her wing back, there he was, right as rain, dressed in clothes far too big for him, while his damp clothes were laid out near the fire. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Fili laughed, and if a dragon could smile, she would.

For a time they sat there, comfortable in the fire’s warmth, but though they’d had quite the long day, sleep would not take them, not yet. Fili sidled up against her shoulder, and she curled her neck round so that her head was beside his outstretched leg. A little nudge of her muzzle and he started to stroke the ridge over her eye. She released a long breath and settled in, content.

When the fire began to die down into embers, she asked quietly, “Fili, when Bilbo mentioned the bead, he seemed upset. Why?” 

Fili stopped petting the soft scales of her cheek and leaned back on his hands to turn his eyes to the stars rather than meet the inky blackness of her eyes. “I suspect Bilbo was only upset by it because my uncle was upset by it. Uncle is upset by it because I gave you a bead that represents my link to the House of Durin and because,” he paused, “under different circumstances, it would be given as a token of courtship.”

Tirnalil hummed curiously. “And what does it mean under these circumstances?”

“The circumstances being that we are on the run from an orc who wants to destroy the line of Durin while we try to reclaim Erebor from a dragon?” Fili laughed more quietly this time, under his breath.

Unmoved from her query, she snorted. “Yes, those circumstances.”

“I don’t know what will happen to us tomorrow or the day after, but I do know that it is not a small part of me that rejoices to see it on your wrist,” Fili said after a long pause. He spoke slowly as if still choosing the right words. “For now, can we leave it at that? I fear what will become of us if we think too far into the future. I would hate to jinx it.”

Tirnalil shut her eyes and hummed. “Fine. I will leave it for now.”

The fire had died down by itself overnight, and Tirnalil nudged Fili awake early the next morning. While he wandered down to the waterline, she returned to her daylight form and shimmied in her now dry clothes, moving quickly to minimize the shock of the cold against skin. Strapping the dragon to her back, she slid down the hill to join the prince to wait for Bard’s return.

Fili sank down on his rear and scooted backwards until his back hit a tree and he patted the ground beside him.

“How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in a while. It is easier now that we are out of the forest,” she explained as she sat beside him, busying her fingers with searching through the small pebbles of the shore for anything unusual. She held up a smooth black stone up towards the sky to better see the glimmer of grey veining throughout its surface. “You?”

“Part of me feels I should be jealous that the others were probably feasted and given fine beds for the night, but the other part of me feels like we got the better end of the deal,” Fili chuckled, “no politicking.”

“Is it hard to be the heir to the Kingdom Under the Mountain?” Tirnalil asked, returning the stone to the ground to look for another. 

“Not so difficult as it is tiring. There is so much you have to consider before you speak, which is why it is best that I’m the elder and not Kili. I love my brother dearly, but he finds so much joy in life, too much to be restrained by the expectation of being the heir.”

Tirnalil shoved him with her shoulder but kept her eyes on the pebbles at her feet. “And you don’t deserve that same joy?”

“Not what I said, but I would be a liar if I said that the thought had not crossed my mind from time to time. With such a scarcity in dwarrowdams, it would not be atypical to expect a marriage between another of the dwarf clans, especially given the weakness of our position. Even with all the wealth of Erebor, it will be a long journey for our kin, and we would be a sitting duck for any who would make a move against us. I must do as my Uncle asks, for the good of our kin, in the end.”

The dragon shrank in on herself, her fingers freezing over a shining pebble as she plucked it from the water’s edge, hardly any larger than the nail on her thumb, but it shined like a drop of sunlight. “At the cost of your own happiness?”

Fili’s hand covered hers, closing her fingers around the golden pebble, and held it between them. “I have to think of my people first if I’m ever to be a good ruler, but, yes, at the cost of my own happiness. But that is a problem for the future.”

“Agreed,” she whispered and squeezed his hand, letting her head rest on his shoulder. 

Bard found them, still asleep, sometime later, and after having spent a long, exhausting night entertaining the other twelve dwarves, he felt he could let them sleep a little while longer. Their compatriots had drunk heavily the night before and would likely not wake for another hour at least. Only the hobbit had been light on the drink, and Bard did not concern himself with Bilbo’s whereabouts when he could not pick out the little creature from the sleeping forms of the dwarves in his living room. Laketown was at its best before its inhabitants awoke. Bilbo had probably left to enjoy the quiet.

Once he’d secured the bag of clothes to the barge, the man finally woke his passengers. Now that he understood the nature of Tirnalil’s shape-changing, she expected him to shy away from her, but he acted no differently than he had before. He was cautious, yes, as any single father ought to be with strangers, but not any more of her than he was of Fili.

“I’ll take you both back to my house. Last night, there were talks of meeting the Master of Laketown. I suppose that is what your king plans to do today,” he explained as he pushed them away from the shore and started on their journey back.

“It sounds like you don’t like him,” Tirnalil commented idly.

“No, nor does he like me. He is greedy and cruel. You will gain nothing for speaking with him, but your king will not budge.”

At Tirnalil’s questioning look, Fili assured her, “It’s as I said before, Tir, _politicking_. Right now, we are still weak in our position. As much as my uncle might detest this Master, we have to make allies, especially with winter coming.”

She pursed her lips and settled down on the floor of the barge. “I don’t think I want to meet him.”

“Seeing as my uncle still clings to the notion that you are not a member of the Company, he probably won’t require your presence,” Fili said in a dismissive tone to ward off the worst of the fear growing in her eyes.

* * *

Fili was forced to sneak into the house from below, under the lake, as his kin had gone before him, but Tirnalil he would not risk allowing her to catch a cold from such a plunge. She had been permitted to follow close behind him under the cover of her cloak.

Thorin actually greeted her with a hand stretched out towards her. When she failed to do whatever he expected of her, he seized her forearm with the outstretched hand and used his other to bring her hand to clasp his forearm in return. “Thank you, Tirnalil. May Mahal bless you with better health after all this is done,” he said and released her.

As soon as Tirnalil had been freed of Thorin’s grip, Bard finished ushering her inside so that he could shut the door. Just in time too, as his middle child and only son appeared behind a door, a dripping wet dwarf behind him. “Tirnalil, why don’t you go over by the fire while I find Fili some more dry clothes.”

She nodded and made herself at home, cross legged in front of the blazing fire. The ache in her bones faded a little in its warmth, but her heart still weighed heavy in her chest, the voice in her mind rising like a dull roar. She did not dare look out the window towards the snowy peaks of the Lonely Mountain. It had been haunting enough to sleep under its shadow.

“You’re a dragon?” Bard’s youngest beamed up at Tirnalil with only awe and admiration in her eyes, not the faintest thread of fear.

“Tilda,” Bard sighed from the opposite side of the room as he returned from upstairs, Fili a step behind.

His eldest, Sigrid, rose and approached her sister, but Tirnalil waved her hand at Tilda to beckon her closer.

“Yes, I am. You are not scared of me?” Tirnalil asked quietly when the small girl sat beside her and tucked herself into her side without waiting for permission. Tirnalil’s eyes snapped up to Bard, who could only rub a hand over his face and shrug at her. 

“Da says you are a good dragon and a friend.”

“Your _da_ is right. I would very much like to be your friend. What is your name? My name is Tirnalil.”

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Tilda!” She beamed at Tirnalil with such a broad smile that Tirnalil could not help but match it.

Slowly, Fili slipped past Bard, where the man had frozen at the bottom of the stairs, and knelt beside the fireplace across from Tirnalil and her new friend. He smiled warmly at the little girl before sliding his gaze over to Tirnalil. “Tirnalil is a very good friend of mine, Tilda, but there is just one problem. You see, she’s a little sick right now. Could you do a very important job for me? I need your solemn vow.”

“Yes,” Tilda whispered and nodded so rapidly her head might’ve fallen off had it not been attached to her shoulders.

Above her, Tirnalil glowered at Fili, but she had very little to say to refute him so kept her silence. 

“Yes, good, Lady Tilda. I need you to make sure that our friend does not move too much and that she gets some rest. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll look after her!” Tilda exclaimed with too much excitement for simply being asked to sit with someone, but Tirnalil felt her face split into a grin again at her unbridled enthusiasm. When she looked around the room, Sigrid had relaxed and sat back down on her stool in the corner, Bard had moved into the kitchen area where the dwarves were gathered, along with Bilbo, and Bain had followed after his father.

“You have my eternal gratitude, Lady Tilda,” Fili said and placed his hand over his heart before he stood back up. He ruffled the little girl’s hair, and when he turned toward Tirnalil, all he could do was stare, eyes soft and the corners of his lips curled into a small smile. Then, he rejoined the company around the table.

Clearly, she watched the dwarf for too long because by the time she looked down at the tiny human girl, she was beaming again but with a certain twinkle of mischief in her big brown eyes.

“You two are so cute!” she squealed and Tirnalil was quick to throw her cloak around them both, slapping a hand over Tilda’s mouth as gently as she could.

She grimaced at the wet slide of tongue against her palm and recoiled from the kid but kept them covered under the cloak. “You could not have said that any louder,” she groaned and stretched out her legs ahead of her and out from under the cover of her cloak.

Tilda giggled. “Is it supposed to be a secret? Da says secrets are bad.”

“Yes, well, your father isn’t exactly wrong, but Fili and I, you know, I don’t know what we are. It is not a simple thing, little one.”

Tilda bit her lip in thought but eventually wormed her way against Tirnalil’s side, throwing a little arm over Tirnalil’s middle. “But it should be simple. You like him, and he likes you very much.”

“Oh, do you really think so?” Tirnalil chuckled.

Tilda tilted her head up to look at Tirnalil, big brown eyes shining with hope. “Yes, last night when the other dwarves were sleeping down here, I heard some of them talking.”

That peaked Tirnalil’s interest immediately, and she moved the girl onto her lap with one arm and using her other to yank the cloak off their heads. Eyes on the dwarves, she whispered conspiratorially into the little girl’s ear, “Mhmm, and what did you hear, Lady Tilda?”

She giggled but kept her voice carefully quiet, “They said you had his bead, and look, there it is!”

Tirnalil withdrew her arm from under the cloak to admire the bead in the light of the fire. She couldn’t stop her smile at the sight of it, even though it sent the little girl into another round of giggles. “Oh, hush, you!”

“You _liiiike_ him,” Tilda crooned at her until Tirnalil, face redder than a tomato, gently tackled her to the floor to engage her in epic combat, a tickle-fight.

Breathless and sprawled across the floor on their backs, Tirnalil tilted her head as far back as she could to try to look at the dwarves. Her blush only deepened when she caught Fili’s eye and he winked before getting right back to whatever conversation they were having. Beside her, Tilda’s grin could only mean one thing. She’s seen the entire exchange.

“You are going to get me into trouble,” Tirnalil groaned and curled herself into a ball with her back to the fire. Tilda mirrored her, pillowing her head with her arm.

“Why? Is it a secret?”

The dragon sighed heavily and tucked her hair behind her ear, fighting the urge to look at the bead on her wrist. “Well, see, he’s a dwarf and a prince of his people. I’m a dragon, at least part of the time. The rest of the time, I am no one.”

“Da says you should be able to love whoever you want.”

Tirnalil groaned and buried her face in her hands. This kid was too much for her. She was so honest and earnest. Children were the worst confidants. Truly. “But I don’t know if this _is_ love.”

Tilda wriggled closer until her nose just barely brushed Tirnalil’s. She pressed her forehead against Tirnalil’s and giggled. “I think it is. He hasn’t stopped watching you.”

Immediately, Tirnalil ripped her head away and looked over at the kitchen. Tilda wasn’t wrong because of course, children never lied about such things. Her face aflame, she dropped back to the floor beside Tilda who hadn’t stopped laughing, even though she’d brought both hands to her mouth to muffle the sound. It did very little. Tirnalil’s light slap to her arm did even less. Tilda only laughed harder. Finally, Tirnalil could not help joining her.

At some point they must have fallen asleep curled together because Tirnalil jolted awake at the first touch of a warm hand at her shoulder. Soft laughter reached her ears, and she could have groaned for how quickly her heart started racing at the sound.

“Thank you for taking care of my friend, Lady Tilda,” she heard Fili speaking to the little girl, a little groggy from her nap but no less joyful. Her laughter was like a chime of bells, it was impossible not to smile upon hearing it. Fili’s laughter lit a fire in Tirnalil’s chest that bloomed across her cheeks.

Tirnalil clung to the last threads of sleep until the very last moment, finally forcing her eyes open to meet Fili’s. His smile did nothing to ease the burning of her face, but she willed herself to sit up on her own. A quick scan found Tilda back with her older sister and the dwarves in varying stages of readiness to move on. She could not see from her seat where Bard and Bain had gone.

“Are you alright to stand?” he asked quietly.

“I think so,” she answered, but still took both his hands when offered to pull herself up.

He did not release her immediately, instead preferring to keep her close so that there was less than a hand’s breadth between their faces. Her blush deepened, and she blinked when she felt the breath of his laughter against her face.

“I have to wonder what you two were laughing about,” he whispered and closed the distance between them when he pressed their foreheads together. 

“Nothing that would interest you,” she retorted just as quietly. His hands were so impossibly warm around her fingers, and she threaded her fingers through his while pulling them into what little space remained between them, the better to be out of the view of the others.

The corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. He hummed in mock thought, and his next words just about shattered her resolve. “But anything that makes you laugh is of interest to me.”

Uncaring of how many eyes were undoubtedly watching, the most excited of all belonging to Tilda, Tirnalil tucked her head under Fili’s jaw and hugged him as tightly as she could, as if it might begin to encompass the depth of her feelings for him. Before he could return the gesture, she pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

“You can’t just say things like that,” she whimpered, covering her mouth with one hand, her other arm she wrapped around her middle..

Fili’s smile dropped just a smidge and he tentatively reached out a hand to her, his smile returning when she dropped her hand from her mouth and slipped her hand in his. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Tir.”

“Just give me a moment.”

“However long you need,” he agreed and urged her to lean against the wall.

After several minutes of focused breathing, Tirnalil had willed the blush to retreat from her face and her heart to return to a slower pace. She glanced down at their hands still intertwined. Just as before, she could not keep the smile from her face. Beside her, Fili bumped his shoulder against hers.

“We’re going to meet the Master of the Lake. Thorin wants you to come with us. It will be our last chance to eat well before we enter the mountain,” he explained, voice low and careful.

Tirnalil’s smile morphed into a frown immediately. Nothing good could possibly come from this. She looked past the dwarf and scanned the room for Bard, finding him sitting on the steps to the upper floor with his children behind him. His face carried the same emotion as she felt, dread and a healthy serving of doubt. The rest of the dwarves however were lively with the promise of a feast, all save for Thorin, and by extension the hobbit. Where the former wore his customary stoic expression, the latter fiddled with his fingers and swayed back and forth on his heels. She did not let her eyes linger on him for too long lest she fall victim to the rising panic at the back of her throat.

When the company began to file out of Bard’s home, Tirnalil waited at the back by the window. At some point, Tilda had found her free hand and clutched onto it with both of her much smaller hands. Finally, as with all things, they came to the end of the line. Fili tugged on her hand and took the first step towards the door, but he paused when he realized they’d acquired the littlest Bardling.

“We have to go,” he reminded Tirnalil gently.

The dragon released her grip on him and squatted in front of Tilda. “Promise me you’ll stay safe, no matter what happens. My heart could not bear it if anything happened to you, Tilda.”

Tilda nodded, her ponytail bouncing behind her, and jutted her chin out. “But only if you promise to come back. Da says you’re going to do something dangerous.”

“Your father is a good man,” Tirnalil laughed emptily. “I will come back to you, I promise.”

The floodgates just about reopened when Tilda threw her arms around Tirnalil’s neck. She inhaled so sharply she felt her breath catch in her throat, but she bit her lip and stopped the worst of the tears. Eventually she peeled herself free from Tilda, who did not meet her gaze again but wiped at her face with her sleeve. With a parting ruffle to her hair, Tirnalil finally followed Fili out of the house and after the rest of the dwarves.

* * *

It was a mess, a grand old mess, thanks to Thorin.

Where they had once been met in gladness, the townsfolk reciting the words of the prophecy of Durin’s Folk, all of them rejoicing the return of the Mountain King, they were now met with derision. For the first time since Tirnalil joined their company, they witnessed firsthand the suffering they had forced upon her when they rejected her aid.

Instead of boasting and waxing poetic about the skills of his warriors in answer to the Master’s doubt that they would be able to reclaim the mountain at all, he’d singled Tirnalil out. And exposed her.

She should have expected as much when he asked her to accompany them to the Master’s hall at the center of the town within minutes of Bard’s delivery of the dragon and the prince. Thirteen skeptical dwarves had nothing on the pure fear that radiated from the crowd of humans gathered in the hall when Thorin announced that he’d brought his own dragon to eradicate Smaug. The small slip of a girl who’d been serving her flat out dropped her tray and bolted from the room, splashing Tirnalil with wine.

“You will find no aid here. Take your _beast_ and leave at once,” the Master roared over the growing whispers, spittle flying from his lips.

The Master glowered at the dwarves as they scrambled up from their seats, shoving what they could reach into their cheeks and pockets in fistfuls before they were forced from the hall at swordpoint. The Master shook with fear, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side, trying to present a strong front to his people, even when Tirnalil could smell the sweat and the fear rolling off him in waves.

She did not wait for the dwarves to follow her before she left through the hall’s double doors, the whispers growing in volume with every step. Her black hair slipped from its hasty bun with the force behind her race forward, the wind over the water tangling the strands as they whipped around her face. She didn’t even know where she was going, she just kept walking.

Laketown was a town of gossips and spies though, and every direction she turned she found another face gaping at her, frozen in fear. Frustrated by the whispers of the townspeople and the rising whisper in the back of her mind, she abandoned all hope of running from her problems and dropped to her knees where she stood. She practically folded herself in half to cover her ears with her hands and press her forehead to her thighs to drown out the din.

“ _Give them something to fear_ ,” hissed the dragon.

She boxed herself in the ear, uncaring of how she might look to passersby. She chuckled hollowly at the sound of boots hurriedly scraping against the boardwalk to get away from her.

_“There is enough gold in the mountain for two dragons. Let me free.”_

No.

_“Then we kill Smaug and claim it for ourselves. There will always be a dragon under the mountain. It may as well be us.”_

She squeezed her head between her hands as if it might dull the whispers, but the laughter only got louder the more she willed it to go away. Anything to quiet the noise. Her fists repeatedly beat against the side of her head, and tears spilled over, burning tracks down her cheeks.

_“The shadow in the forest called to you, but the gold sings more strongly. You cannot fight it.”_

Two pairs of strong hands closed around both of her wrists, and though she struggled mightily, from her seated position, she couldn’t gain enough leverage to free herself. A third pair, more gentle than either of the first, cradled her face, thumbs brushing away the tears as she sobbed freely. Slowly, the tension in her arms faded, and the holds on her arms were released, her arms falling limply back to her sides. The hands on her face shifted and pulled her into a warm chest.

_“They cannot save you from what you are.”_

_This one can_ , she thought to herself and finally locked away that oil-slick sickening voice once more.

Eventually her breathing calmed and her vision cleared, no longer muddled by a constant stream of tears. She turned her eyes up and found herself surrounded by the entirety of Thorin’s company, though not all of them were facing her. They were facing out, having formed a protective circle around Tirnalil. Fili, because of course it was Fili, had her between his outstretched legs, her back to his front, having turned her around at some point. She felt so drained, she let her eyes close for another moment, to avoid looking at Thorin, who actually looked at least a little bit guilty.

“Don’t apologize,” she mumbled, her voice scratchy.

“No, Tirnalil, I should not have exposed you in that manner. I had not considered how these men would react,” he spoke over her attempts to shush him.

“It’s how men always react,” Tirnalil whispered and grabbed Fili’s hand as she forced herself to sit up and lean away from him. “Help me up, please?”

Fili squeezed back and got to his feet, pulling her up after him. “Are you sure you’re good to stand?”

“Yes, now we can go,” she assured him with another squeeze to his hand before releasing him and turning back to Thorin, watching them with his lips drawn into a thin line, but he didn’t comment on it. “We should leave before anyone can get a hunting party together.”

The dwarves maintained their protective circle around her on their way out of Laketown, holding up shields to block what old produce got tossed their way, and Tirnalil struggled not to break down again.

Though she had spent most of her life amongst elves, she had spent more time still with orcs. Even amongst the elves, they were not so isolated that they received no visitors of other races. Men travelled frequently through Elrond’s lands and often passed through the Hidden Valley seeking council or safe haven. She had grown accustomed to abuse for what she was. Fear drove men to the same end. These would not suffer a dragon in their midst, but at least they did not seek to bend it to their will. Nor did they seem in a rush to kill her where she stood. She had that going for her at least.

At the edge of the town, where the long bridge joined the town to the shore, stood Bard, looking entirely too smug.

“I take it that your meeting with the Master did not go as planned,” he teased. He did not try to hide the smirk on his face. Though Bard stood face to face with Thorin, Fili and Tirnalil both snorted from deeper within the circle of dwarves, knowing the words had been directed at them. His next words, however, were kinder and directed to their king. “Come with me. It is a long walk to the shores beneath Erebor, but not so bad on the water.”

Dressed a little more opulently than they had when they’d arrived at Laketown, thanks to what gifts they received from the Master before he cast them out, the dwarves rode the barge in silence, checking over their weapons now that they sat beneath the shadow of the mountain. Assured of his company’s safety on the lake, Thorin approached the human man who’d saved from a long walk. They were cutting it close already. The seasons were changing swiftly, and they could not risk losing their chance to find the hidden door. Bard’s assistance now bought them precious time.

“Why did you help us?” Thorin asked gruffly, coming to stand beside the man, his back to the mountain.

“I still think you’re on a fool’s quest, but your friend, the dragon, she has a kind heart that I’m certain you neither appreciate nor deserve,” Bard answered, his voice growing more irate as he spoke before he cut himself off and breathed in and out slowly in measured breaths. “I am helping you for her sake.”

Thorin nodded and let his eyes fall on the dragon sleeping shoulder to shoulder against his nephew. On Fili’s other side sat Kili, the two of them engrossed in a whispered conversation. He smiled at them and addressed the bargeman again, extending a hand in the man’s direction. “We owe no debt to the Men of the Lake for casting us out, but for your aid, a portion of the wealth in Erebor will be yours.”

Bard chuckled and shook his head. “I am not the one to whom a debt is owed.”

Thorin’s brows came together again, and he looked back at the sleeping form of Tirnalil. They had been wrong not to appreciate her help more, and yes, some part of their mistrust and ill treatment of her had been due to the dark magic over Mirkwood, but not all of it. They had not been kind even in the home of the shape-changer Beorn. She stayed with them anyway, had promised that she would see Erebor restored to them, and so far she’d proved herself multiple times. Perhaps there was time yet to mend the relationship between her and the company.

Whatever the princes had been whispering about, both snapped their mouths shut when their king and uncle approached them, taking a knee in front of them.

“Fili, Kili,” he started solemnly, “a sickness lies upon the gold of Erebor, even before the dragon forced us out. It is the weakness of the line of Durin, but knowing that is the case, I hope that you both will be better equipped to resist it.”

“Yes, uncle, we know about the gold-sickness,” Kili muttered nonchalantly. “We’ll be fine.”

“Kili, I need you to be serious. Balin and Dwalin will keep an eye on us, but there is also the problem of Tirnalil.”

Fili’s hold around the dragon’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly.

Thorin was quick to place a hand on his nephew’s shoulder to reassure him. “I only worry because she is weaker now for having come through Mirkwood. She is still herself, yes, for now, but all dragons have a love for gold. It is in their blood just as it is in ours. You need to think about what might happen, what you might have to do, Fili. Kili, look after your brother.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Kili said at once.

Fili frowned then tilted his head back to look at the sky. “I have known for some time what I might have to do. Do not worry for me, Uncle.”

Thorin clapped both boys on the shoulder and stood. “For as long as possible, until we are certain that we are not affected by the gold-sickness, she cannot be allowed into the mountain. We will need to have our wits about us in case we need to act against her. If she’s been hobbling the creature’s true power all this time, I fear what we might face when she can restrain it no longer.”

The brothers shared a look between them, watching Thorin move about the barge, speaking to each of the other dwarves before finally reaching the hobbit. They assumed he was relaying the plan to prevent Tirnalil from entering the mountain. That or he was whispering sweet nothings in the face of imminent danger.

In a hushed voice, Kili asked, “Do you think she’ll lose it, Fi?”

“Had you asked me when we were still in Mirkwood, I would have said no without hesitation. Now, though, she _is_ weaker, and I want to believe that she is strong enough to fight it, but I cannot, not with my whole heart,” Fili admitted, tucking a stray hair back behind Tirnalil’s ear with a gentle touch.

“And you’ll do what you have to?” Kili’s voice shook as he forced out the words.

Fili’s eyes were filled with an indescribable sadness when he looked at his brother. “I promised that I would grant her a good death if she lost control. She made me swear it, and I have feared that I might have to ever since. I don’t know if I could do it, brother.”

Kili threw his arms around his brother and squeezed him tight. “I will help you if it comes down to it, but let us pray to Mahal that it doesn’t. She’s strong, Fi. We just have to believe that.”

Bard drew the barge alongside an old dock at the edge of the lake just below the ruins of Dale. Slowly, encumbered by the weight of their armor, the dwarves disembarked. Each one shook themselves or jumped in place to get their blood moving again in the cold. Then, as if they were in a trance, they fell silent when they turned. Finally, after all the trials and terror of the road behind them, they stood beneath the Lonely Mountain. Its ring of peaks stood glorious above the cloudline. There stood the old tower of Ravenhill. There sat the gate and the rushing river emptying from it. There it was, the Kingdom Under the Mountain.

The lake-man helped to steady Tirnalil as she stepped off the barge, a questioning look in his eyes that she waved away. She had looked so near to crying. Where the dwarves had been struck silent by awe, her heart was gripped by fear. She had finally reached the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please drop a line if you liked this! Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There can only be one dragon under the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um.....so I guess I snuck in some new tags for this story now that I've figured out my ending. This chapter's a bit shorter than the last couple of updates, and it's going to slow down some. This weekend and the next are both event weekends for me so writing time is a little scarce. Plus, I'm coming down to the final chapters and while they're mostly written, they're also still mostly disjointed so gotta clean up loose ends and such.
> 
> Still, thanks for sticking with me. :)

Since the company had departed from Laketown, neither the dragon nor the hobbit appeared able to settle down. At any given moment, from the second they reached the opposite shore of the Long Lake, Tirnalil’s movements were short and jerky. She kept spinning on her heel as they walked, eyes darting between Laketown and the mountain before them. Meanwhile, the hobbit’s pace was hurried, like a ground squirrel looking for the next threat, he would scurry along, then pause, always standing alert but not quite sure if he should draw his sword or not.

The shadow of the mountain hung heavy over her, but where Tirnalil walked in fear, the others strode forward with renewed purpose. It was a stark reminder that she hadn’t come along on this journey for the same reasons. Although she was aware of Bilbo’s role as a burglar, hired to steal the Arkenstone from the dragon, she’d always dreaded the moment she’d have to play her part as well. Bilbo, despite his fear, forced himself to keep moving after the Company with a bravery that Tirnalil honestly envied. The night Galadriel visited her in a dream, Tirnalil had questioned whether she should have come along at all. After the flight from the cliff, she’d regretted leaving Imladris. She had gone days without food or water only to be met with no small serving of scorn and derision. Protecting dwarves who clearly cared very little for her was not worth days of suffering.

But Galadriel had blessed her with restful sleep and the promise that this was the only way. She had seen it in the water. If she continued on this path, the world would be rid of  _ two  _ dragons by the end of it.

Turning back had ceased to be an option.

Even when her health first began to fail. 

She would not turn back now. 

She couldn’t point to the exact moment it happened, but somewhere during their journey, she had stopped following along purely to rid herself of the dragon. She started to follow them because it was the right thing to do. She would not allow the dwarves to come to needless harm whilst she still breathed. That Fili became such a fast friend merely cemented her devotion to the Company.

“Thorin, Gandalf gave us explicit instructions not to enter the mountain without him,” Bilbo shouted at the king as he struggled to keep up while the company moved forward past the overlook.

They’d only paused long enough to gaze wistfully at the plains beneath the Mountain and the magnificent statues of the dwarven kings of old carved into its face. Even sixty years after the destruction left by the dragon, not even the great gouges left behind in the rock or the black burns across the stone could diminish the regal splendor of the kingdom under the mountain. 

Tirnalil hung back to take it all in and swallowed loudly, her mouth suddenly parched. Fili passed her a waterskin that she accepted more greedily than gratefully. She could always trust Bilbo to provide a voice of reason that Thorin  _ might  _ be marginally inclined to listen to.

“Durin’s Day is upon us, we cannot afford to wait. We have one chance, and one chance only, to find the hidden door,” Thorin stated matter-of-factly, never slowing for the burglar who huffed and puffed behind him.

At the back of the pack, no one batted an eye at the closeness kept between Fili and the dragon in her nearly-hobbit nearly-dwarf form. She nudged his arm and gestured at Bilbo as they followed along. “Bilbo’s right. Gandalf warned us against going inside without him.”

“But my Uncle is also right. If we do not use this time to find the door, then we will have missed our only chance to enter the mountain at all. The portents say that it must happen this way. Who can say if we will have the same luck next year or the year after? Who can say if we will even survive that long with the orcs still hunting us?” Fili countered, catching her by the elbow when her ankle rolled to one side and she lost her balance.

Tirnalil shook her head and separated from Fili, picking up her pace and shouting behind her as she went. Though she stumbled several times, she forced herself to keep moving forward despite the sting of her scraped knees. “Then we find the door, but we do not enter it. I know you do not trust Gandalf, but perhaps now is a good time to start.”

Balin, having grown, if not fond, more tolerant of her since their escape from the Woodland Realm caught her by the elbow as she brushed past him, hastily releasing his grasp when she rounded on him with fire in her dark eyes. “You won’t get him to change his mind, little one.”

Tirnalil stomped her foot but then winced when it caused the material of her trousers to brush against her wounded knee. “Then at least let me get him to wait. If he must enter the mountain, he should at least stack the odds in his favor.”

Balin’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“How exactly did you plan to kill the dragon?” she asked tonelessly.

“The bargeman has the last of the Black Arrows,” the old dwarf replied with enough hesitation that Tirnalil felt no guilt when she pushed him back a step and began to shout.

“Then, why isn’t he here? What good does it do anyone to have the only weapon capable of killing Smaug down in Laketown? You would risk the lives of an entire town on the hope that a single  _ man  _ can make the shot?” Tirnalil raged against the elder dwarf, and she would have continued if she had not been stopped by a heavy hand slamming down onto her shoulder. She turned to find Dwalin glaring down at her. “I’m not wrong.”

Dwaln’s lips curled into a sneer, but even his hand was stayed from harming her when Thorin swept up beside them, having stopped his forward march to investigate. Dwalin let his hand fall to his side as he moved to stand beside his brother. Thorin’s blue eyes glittered dangerously as they roved over the dragon’s form. She did not shrink, filled as she was with a sudden burst of courage. If Bilbo could stand up to a king, then so could she.

“Gandalf proposed that the burglar be the first to enter the mountain because the dragon would not easily recognize the scent. What good would it do him to send a dragon down as well? Surely Smaug would not take so kindly to another of his kind around his hoard,” Thorin pointed out in a sharp voice.

Tirnalil met his gaze resolutely. “All the same, do you really feel it’s safe enough to send Bilbo down unaccompanied? Do you have so much faith in his ability to steal anything from Smaug and return without being caught? Even if he does return, can you guarantee that Smaug will not redirect his ire against the people of Laketown? Or Mirkwood?”

“I care naught for the elves,” Thorin scoffed but broke their staring contest first to look at the gateway to the mountain, the River Running pouring forth from it. “But if you are so determined to make yourself useful, you may remain at the gate should Smaug try to escape the mountain, if indeed it still lives.”

Tirnalil growled and shoved past him. “You are a damned fool, Thorin Oakenshield, a damned bloody fool. You cannot send him in alone.”

She did not make it far before Thorin called her name again, loud but not unkind. “Tirnalil, do you know what your king asked of me in exchange for our freedom?”

“I already know he wanted some gems from a deal made long ago,” Tirnalil growled and kept walking.

“The deal changed,” Thorin shouted. He waited for her to freeze before he continued. “Your king asked me to leave you behind. He would have had you drugged and chained so that you could not follow. He would have sent you back to Lord Elrond. He would have traded our freedom for yours.”

“And you refused him?” Tirnalil turned and raised a single eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“Because you would have followed regardless of any effort to contain you. You swore your life to our cause, and you have never wavered. I could not betray you in that way. I do not ask you to stay out of the mountain because I do not desire your aid. I only ask this of you because this is our fight. Let us face Smaug first. If we fail, then you shall have your chance, but not before.”

“You are still a fool,” she said tearing up nevertheless, “a noble one, but a fool all the same.”

“Will you stay outside the mountain?” Thorin ventured a step towards her.

Tirnalil nodded her assent and nearly fell over from the force behind Thorin’s hand as he clapped her on the shoulder while moving past her. She could only follow mutely along behind, sandwiched between Fili and Kili at the back of the line. Fili occasionally bumped shoulders with her when her pace slowed, and Kili would ask her simple questions about Tauriel to keep her from lapsing into silence.

It was not the worst climb she’d ever done, but given her current condition, she was grateful for the distraction from the growing ache at her temples. The closer they got to the mountain, the louder the drumbeat grew in the back of her mind. She breathed in and forced herself to hold her breath for several moments before breathing out through her mouth, focusing on Fili’s shoulder against hers like a lifeline. When she opened her eyes, the company was several paces ahead of them, but Fili did not push her to run to rejoin them, despite Kili’s worried glances.

“Are you all right,” he asked instead, voice quiet.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, “I still don’t like this plan. If Smaug escapes the mountain, I cannot catch him in the air. It would be better if I went in with you.”

“Or worse. Thorin’s right. In all the stories we were ever told, dragons never shared their hoards. At least with Bilbo, there is a chance we might retrieve the stone without disturbing the beast. Then we can summon the seven houses of the dwarves to our aid and mount a final attack.”

Tirnalil glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but pressed on. “Somehow I doubt that will happen.”

“We need to have faith in Bilbo. He has survived trolls, orcs, spiders, and elves. He can survive this.”

She groaned. Fili was right, in a way, but she could not shake the fear that everything would come to ruin if Bilbo failed. If Thorin failed.

When Bilbo brought their attention to the stairway carved into the side of the mountain, that was the end of Tirnalil’s path.

She glowered at the King as he made for the stairs. He had only spared her a final glance, daring her to follow them, before he leapt onto the first stone. Bifur and Bofur together helped to hoist Bombur’s greater bulk onto the first of the large steps and quickly got a rhythm going. Bilbo similarly looked over his shoulder at the two princes and the dragon before he made his way over to the step, struggling to get a leg up by himself. Tirnalil was the first to break his gaze, glaring at a rock by her boot instead. Dwalin gave Bilbo a boost, but very rapidly the hobbit proved to be just as nimble on his feet as he was silent once he’d gotten over the first hurdle. The tattooed dwarf stood at the base of the stairs a moment longer, glaring at Tirnalil as if it might convince the princes to move faster towards the steps.

Kili and Fili lingered behind the others, Kili being the first to go. He surprised her by pulling her into a tight hug and pressing their foreheads together for just a moment. When he pulled away, he flashed her a blinding smile then jogged towards Dwalin. Tirnalil watched them exchange words, but instead of storming over to drag Fili over, Dwalin merely shook his head and began to climb after Kili.

Tirnalil’s eyes softened when Fili met her gaze, his fingers finding the bead at her wrist.

“Be safe, Fili. Please. I cannot protect you in this,” she whispered, tears welling up faster than she could wipe them away.

He threaded their fingers together and squeezed. “I shall do my best as long as you promise the same.”

“Fili, we have to go. We’re losing sight of the others,” Kili shouted, already three steps up but several behind his kin.

“ _ Mukhuh mabaddakhi ya bunmû Maha,  _ _ ‘Ibinê _ ,” Fili whispered fervently and brought their foreheads together, a warm hand on the back of her neck. How she wished she could keep him there. He took a deep, shuddering breath and released her. Then he hastened up the slope towards the stone stairway. He did not look back.

Until the growing chill of the oncoming night forced her to follow the face of the mountain back down to the gate, Tirnalil sat at the base of the hidden stairs, craning her neck back as far as she could til she lost sight of the Company somewhere around the carven king’s elbow. Giving up on the dwarves as far as being allowed to enter the mountain with them, she made herself a little camp before the gateway. Without Gloin, her little fire took several tries to light, and she found herself wishing she’d grabbed more than her sling with her dragon before she set out from Bard’s house that morning. Her stomach growled, but the thought of eating something now made it twist with unease. 

Despite her misgivings, Tirnalil remained at the gateway into Erebor while the rest of the company undoubtedly entered the mountain. Night came and she transformed as she always did, her eyes narrowed in a righteous fury. She should have been inside the mountain with Bilbo. How could they let him go inside so unprotected, so vulnerable? A lone hobbit against the might of a dragon? 

She stretched out her long neck towards the sky and dragged in a long breath. Nothing on the wind just yet save for the chill of the oncoming winter now that they’d passed the last day of autumn. The cold cut like a knife, and she shivered despite the inherent warmth that came with dragonkind.

Without Fili beside her, she felt the call of the gold more keenly now that she stood face to face with the mountain gate. Her mind ached as they had made their ascent, but now it was nearly enough to drive her into a new round of tears. Growling under her breath, she trotted a short distance away before her feet froze in place unconsciously, her ears peeled at some distant sound she could not recognize.

She felt the whisper of the dragon in the back of her mind, gentle in its touch but persistent. It came faster and stronger with each breath until she heard its oil-slick haunting voice.

“ _ Our turn _ ,” it hissed joyfully.

A menacing boom deep beneath the earth and the roar of dragonfire.

Smaug was awake and he was angry.

She galloped back towards the gateway and scraped her claws at the stone, but the thing about dwarf doors was that they did not have seams that would be so easily broken into. Such was the magic of their immense skill. She howled with rage and slammed her forehead against it instead when her claws failed, but to no avail. Loping a short distance away from the door, she rammed the full weight of her body into it and fell back with a shriek at the throbbing pain that lit up her shoulder. She couldn’t let them die down there. She hated to do it, but she sucked in a breath, letting the fire grow. She just needed to stay. In. Control.

Just as she was set to release it, the door burst open with a howl not unlike her own. 

Smaug, buried beneath a shining coat of liquid gold that seemed to drip from his scales.

The dragon part of her froze momentarily, stunned by the glimmer of the gold in the firelight.

“It burns, it burns,” the immense red dragon bellowed into the black night as he stutter-stepped down the mountainside, wings flapping with little precision.

“He’s making for Laketown, Tirnalil, you have to stop him,” Bilbo cried as he rushed to the ramparts above the ruined gate, causing the white dragon to snap out of its trance. “There is a scale missing from his chest. That is the only way he can be killed. You must stop him.”

Tirnalil would never beat Smaug in the air, not with her missing wing. At the last moment before he took to the skies, she leapt onto his back and sunk her claws into his flesh, the weight of her attack causing him to crash onto the ground long enough for her to scramble up the length of his heavy tail and onto his back before he could shake her off. The sting of the still hot molten gold, though unpleasant, was not enough to dislodge her. She struggled to claw her way towards his head, her tail whipping in the wind behind her.

“Oh, what’s this? Another dragon?” Smaug’s deep voice mocked her, laughing cruelly, his amber eyes widening when they fell on the stump of her wing. He launched himself into the night with a powerful beat of his wings that rebelled against the additional weight on his back, but even when he spun rapidly midflight to remove the gold from his scales, he could not remove her. “They should have sent you in with the silver-tongued little thief. Perhaps then, in closer quarters, you could have stood a chance. Now though? You are too late, and too  _ crippled _ , to stop me. The Men of the Lake will  _ burn _ .”

Smaug roared, but Tirnalil answered him in kind, closing her jaws around his neck and throwing her weight to the side, forcing him off course. He dipped a wing into the water, and before he could right himself, the speed of their travel caused them to crash into the water’s surface. Tirnalil was thrown from his back on impact, but flapped her wing through the water in an effort to close the distance between them before he could fly off again.

They reached the shallows at the same time, and she dragged him back by the tip of his tail, jaw clenched tight against the force of his wingbeats. Every muscle protested as she planted her feet deep in the mud. He rounded on her with a snarl and they met again with a resounding crash of claws against scales, their bodies meeting with a wave of water between them, each trying to tear the other’s throat out with teeth and claws. Blood dripped from new wounds on each of them, but Tirnalil did not waver. With every step towards the larger red dragon, she forced him to back away from Laketown.

“Why do you defend them? Is it for them or for the gold?” he sneered before taking one of her horns in his teeth and forcing her head under the water. 

She took a swipe with her right front paw and hooked her claws around his leg, yanking until he released her. She surfaced with a gasp and used both front paws to push him back towards the deep before she used her head like a flail and rammed the same spiraling horn he’d grabbed into the soft flesh of his unguarded flank. Quickly she wrenched her head free again while he recoiled in pain, using her shoulder to push him off balance at the same time.

“The mountain belongs to the dwarves and the dwarves shall have it,” she growled low in her throat. She watched with narrow eyes as Smaug surveyed the damage and leveled her with a cold stare of his own.

Something shifted as Smaug paused in his attack, and the laughter came again, dark and haunting. “I may not know  _ who  _ you are, but I know what you are. You are a dragon. You have the same urges that I do. You can hear the gold calling, can’t you? If not yet, you will. It is inevitable, inescapable. Even if you kill me, the second you enter that mountain, it will take you.”

Then, he beat his wings against the water’s surface and was airborne once more before she could catch him. Instead, she raced along the water’s edge, praying that she would still be able to keep even one person in Laketown safe from the dragonfire.

She was too late to divert the first arc of flame that swept across the town, but she roared her defiance in the face of the second blast, having finally reached the town on its pathetic little stilts. She was too heavy for its platforms, but her size meant the water only came up to her belly anyhow. She was slower than she was on dry land, but at least her footing was secure. She dug in her feet and focused her mind. Her chest swelled with that unearthly white light, and she released a blast of flame that forced Smaug to turn away, shocked that she had such capabilities. Crippled and flightless she might be, but she was not defenseless.

The moment he peeled back from Laketown, she tossed her head, eyes shut. 

_ Let me free. Free me and Smaug will not live to see the dawn. _

As much as she could, she met each of his fire bolts with one of her own, but where Smaug was 100% the dragon he’d been born to be, she fought against hers every waking minute. 

_ You are not strong enough to defeat him yourself. But I am. Grant me my full strength and I will destroy him for you. _

Every time his back was to Laketown, she had her head tucked between her forelegs, chest heaving with shuddering breaths. It was all she could do to hold her ground.

_ You cannot defeat him by yourself. You have only given this wretch a taste of my true power! _

He crushed multiple houses when he landed, and Tirnalil hoped its inhabitants had already fled on one of the many boats that had shuttled off while the dragons battled it out. He lowered his head and began to creep forwards, crushing more homes with every step and every swing of his tail.

“Getting tired, are we?” he chuckled.

“Never,” she hissed and lunged, whipping her tail ahead of her, aiming the points of the twin blades on her tail at the exposed spot on his chest.

Smaug deflected the attack with a meaty paw and his jaws snapped shut like a bear trap around her neck instead. When he bit down, she found herself fighting for breath.

“I am almost tempted to let you live, simply because I know it will destroy you, but then I would miss out on all the fun.”

He dropped her back into the water, standing with a foot on her throat, and prepared to kill her then and there, but at the last moment, an arrow struck him just beneath his eye. It fell to the water with a soft splash, easily deflected by the tough scaly hide. He shifted his weight, and Tirnalil dragged in a ragged breath automatically. She regretted it immediately, as the water had flooded into her mouth at the same time she tried to breathe. Throat raw from smoke and water, Tirnalil struggled to keep her head above the water.

Both dragons looked for the arrow’s origin and found Bard atop a belltower, surprisingly still standing despite the flames crawling up its supports. The man readied another arrow, but he had to know it wouldn’t do him any good.

Tirnalil shut her eyes as if it would block Smaug's insidious laughter now that he’d found a new target, but she had to warn Bard. Perhaps the aim of men would be their saving grace.

She lifted her head from the water and in spite of the ache in her throat, she shouted to him, “The missing scale on the left side of his breast, aim for that!”

Smaug turned on her and pressed her deeper into the muddy lakebed with a single foot, but when he returned his attention to the human, it was to look his killer in the eye. With a wet thud, not just any arrow,  _ the  _ Black Arrow found its mark and sank deep into the red dragon’s chest. He stumbled backwards, and Tirnalil couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. He trampled her deeper into the mud in his haste, and she coughed around the silt that poured into the back of her mouth. Smaug launched himself into the air, but his movements were desperate, uncoordinated. He hardly got very far from the town at all before his body dropped back into the water somewhere in the center of the lake. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the water strong enough to rock the foundations of the town on the lake.

He did not resurface. 

Exhausted and still wheezing with every breath from the pressure of Smaug’s weight pressed against her throat, Tirnalil let her head drop from where she’d tried to track Smaug’s rise and fall, grateful that she’d landed so her nostrils were just barely above the water. She couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. She shut her eyes and prayed to the Valar that the Company had survived their own idiocy within the mountain.

At some point, Bard joined her, sitting at the edge of what remained of the nearest walkway, his son and two daughters beside him, all three of them gaping at the dragon. Tilda kept her face mostly shielded in the skirts of her sister’s dress, and the sight of it filled Tirnalil’s heart with dread. On Bard’s own face, he wore a tired smile, happy but almost scared to be. 

“Tirnalil, thank you.” He hugged his children close and smiled at each of them and then at her once more. “You kept Smaug occupied long enough for Laketown to evacuate.”

That explained why the waterways which had once been clogged with all manner of boats now sat empty save for the ruined pieces of homes and smoldering walkways from her fight with Smaug.

She laughed then promptly coughed on the lakewater. “Except you.”

“Yeah, Da, except you,” Sigrid exclaimed, tears in her eyes but a smile on her face as she lightly punched her father in the shoulder. She let the tears fall and wrapped her arms around her father. She turned her head just enough to mouth her thanks to the dragon in the water.

“We still have some hours left before daylight. Can you walk? Just to the shore so you’re out of the water,” Bard asked and gestured over his shoulder.

She struggled to lift her head to look in the direction he pointed at. It wasn’t too far, not in this form. She was so tired though. She tucked one leg beneath her, and dug deep into the mud to anchor herself as she struggled to stand. Her legs gave out underneath her and she dropped back into the water with a splash, some of it getting on the four little humans. She groaned from the stab of pain from landing on her own wrist and apologized for getting the children soaked, but it was waved off by tiny Tilda, whose face was pale with fear. Tirnalil whimpered at the thought that she might have lost her as a friend now that she’d seen her true form.

“Da, what are we going to do?” Bain asked, looking between his father and the beast to whom they owed their lives.

“Bain, fetch some blankets, as many as you can find. Sigrid, take Tilda. I’m going to look for a home we can stay in for the night. We’re going to watch over Tir until morning, all right?” Bard got to his feet and straightened his coat then looked at Tirnalil, still wheezing from her efforts to stand. “We won’t leave you.”

And they didn’t. One of the houses that Smaug had nearly crushed had lost its entire second floor, but the base level, though it kept its roof, was missing most of its fourth wall. Through that rather enlarged window, the Bardlings and their father could keep an eye on Tirnalil through the night. As they lay wrapped in blankets to ward off the growing winter chill, they watched the dragon shudder in the water. One by one they fell asleep in their watch, Bard, too, though he woke shortly before dawn with a surprised jolt. 

Careful not to wake his children, Bard crept out of the ruined home and back to the nearest walkway where it jutted out towards Tirnalil’s body. He dropped down into a boat that had not been used for the evacuation, pulling a sack of clothes and a spare blanket down with him, and pushed himself along the water until he was beside the sleeping dragon. Gently, he prodded her awake with an oar, more to let her know he was there, than to convince her to move again.

Together, in the silence of the early morning that comes after a too-long night, they sat, fighting the dragging of their eyelids and the temptation to let sleep take them. Finally, Tirnalil shuddered again and then a long curse in Sindarin reached Bard’s ears as she disappeared into the water. He was ready with a hand over his eyes and a blanket outstretched in one hand when she climbed into the boat with him. It rocked back and forth violently while she used the blanket to rapidly towel herself off and redressed in the clothes that had been provided for her.

Her teeth were still chattering when she announced she was done. The sleeping dragonling rested in the bundle of wet blankets between her bare feet at the floor of the boat. Her customary sling sat heavy beside her. Clearly making certain it would be sealed against water had never been a priority. Her glare dared him to mention the oversight. Chuckling to himself, Bard started rowing them back to the nearest walkway, but remained in the boat even after retying it to the dock.

“We face a great deal of work in the coming days to rebuild Laketown. Should I return you to the dwarves, or do you wish to remain here?” He kept his eyes on her to gauge her reaction.

Tirnalil’s brows came together, and she frowned. “Rebuild Laketown? Surely, your efforts would be better served in rebuilding Dale, wouldn’t it? The stone will provide a better defense, especially against the cold.”

“Aye, but we do not have the resources to rebuild that place the way it needs.”

“You killed Smaug. You are owed a reward, surely, you are. Thorin cannot dispute that.”

“I couldn’t have killed the beast if not for you. I got lucky, but you did the bulk of the work. No, I do not think Thorin owes me anything,” Bard scoffed and shook his head. “Now, Tirnalil, I need you to answer the question. Would you like to stay here, or should I take you to Erebor?”

Something about the kindness in his tired expression broke her.

Fighting back tears, she whispered, “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.” He shrugged noncommittally. “I will not force you to return to Erebor. You have done enough tonight to be guaranteed safety with us for as long as you need. The people of Laketown owe you their lives. I will shoot the Master myself if he tries to deny you safe haven now.”

Tirnalil laughed before her throat tightened and she fell into a coughing fit. Bard could only watch and wait until she was done. “Sorry. I’m just imagining the noise he’d make if he heard you say that. I do not like that man.”

“Few people do,” Bard agreed solemnly, then clapped his hands against his thighs and stood, extending a hand towards her. “Now up you get. If you’re alright with it, I’ll leave you with the girls for the day. Sigrid will look after you and find you something to eat, a place to rest.”

Tirnalil followed him back into the broken home where the Bardlings still slept and curled up in Bard’s abandoned blanket nest, stifling a yawn behind her hand. “And where will you go?”

“We had everyone evacuate to the ruins of Dale. I need to report the good news and find good men and women to take what can be salvaged back to Dale. This house will hold for some time yet, but the more I look at it, less and less of this place seems worth the effort of rebuilding. I think you’re right, Tirnalil, Dale must become our home again.”

Tirnalil smiled sleepily and pulled the blanket partly over her face. “Thank you, Bard. If you run into any of the Company, could you let them know that I just need some time, please?”

Bard stopped at the doorway and nodded. “Of course. Now get some rest.”

Sigrid had taken her role as the stand-in mother for their little family with far more grace than she should have, as young as she was, and she was so endlessly kind to Tirnalil when the dragon awoke. The young girl had immediately put her brother to work searching for something to eat and divided out portions of the dried fish he’d found, making certain that Tilda and Tirnalil both had enough.

After their meal, Tirnalil hesitantly reached out to the littlest Bardling. Immediately her fear had proved unfounded when Tilda collapsed against her in a fit of tears, a mix of sobs and whimpers shaking her small frame. Once or twice she could actually pick out words. Tilda had been afraid  _ for  _ her, not afraid  _ of  _ her. Tirnalil pulled the little human onto her lap as they both nibbled on the dried fish, telling her stories of the elves between bites. Tilda giggled at the story of how, when Legolas tried to teach her to throw daggers, she’d nearly gotten Thranduil himself by accident. It hadn’t been her fault either! They were in a secluded part of the forest, not far from the fortress, when out of nowhere, he’d ridden up on his stag, and she startled. She reacted out of instinct and only her poor aim saved the poor beast of war and its master. They’d gotten such a lecture that day.

“I was so scared for you three,” Tirnalil confessed into Tilda’s mouse brown hair as she hugged her close.

“Da put us on the barge and told us to go to the elf river to wait it out,” Bain explained, sifting through the rubble for anything salvageable. 

“How much did you see?” she asked shakily.

“All of it,” he answered, pausing in his search, eyes distant. “When he had you by the throat, I didn’t know if you would survive it. We couldn’t keep Tilda quiet. She made us row back. We reached town just as the dragon dropped from the sky.”

“That was when Tilda almost fell off the barge,” Sigrid cut in, patting each of her siblings on their heads in turn. “What matters is that Smaug is dead, and that you’re still alive. Get your rest while you can. I have a feeling, this is just the beginning.”

Tirnalil remained with the Bardlings for the rest of the day, helping where she could, but for the most part, regaling the little one with whatever stories she asked for. She fell asleep on and off throughout the day, and Tilda was kind enough to simply curl up beside her until she woke again. Sigrid checked in periodically, as did Bain, but little could be done to restore Tirnalil but allow her to rest.

Eventually, Bard returned with his hand-picked crew of men and women. He did not stay long, hugged his children, nodded to Tirnalil, and left again with a promise to return and bring them all back to Dale when a shelter had been set aside for them.

A better shelter than Tirnalil had expected had indeed been waiting for them.

When Bard had finished tying off the knots to hold his barge to the dock, Tirnalil hopped down and took her first shaky steps with Bain and Sigrid to help keep her steady. She nearly fell again when she saw that Dale was not just home to the Men of the Lake.

The Woodland Elves had come, in shining golden armor, leading wagons laden with food and supplies, they had come. At the head of the long train that continued behind them, marching with nearly the full force of Thranduil’s army, was the Elvenking himself, dressed in resplendent silver armor in an intricate design that was caught between feathers and leaves. He had left behind his crown of berries and swapped it for something smaller, more suited for wear in a fight but no less stunning, the bright white gem glimmering where it sat on his forehead as he led his people into the ruins of Dale.

Tirnalil stood amongst the Bardlings shocked into silence at the sight of him. She could not will her feet to follow when Bard rushed forward to thank him for his aid.

“Your gratitude is misplaced, Bard of Laketown. I have come because we received word that my charge battled against the dragon Smaug,” Thranduil explained in not necessarily a cold voice, but a firm one. “You are the dragonslayer, are you not?”

He was still mad then. Tirnalil gulped when his eyes picked her out from the crowd, flanked on both sides by Bard’s children. Not mad, just disappointed.

“There is something within the mountain that I must retrieve, gems of pure starlight that we are owed. These supplies I offer in thanks for sheltering my charge. We will make camp here, and a tent will be designated for you and your kin, as befits your station, King of Dale.”

Bard’s jaw dropped at the title, but before he could refute it, Thranduil had already turned his elk away to direct the elves behind him. Tirnalil finally crept forward to stand beside the man, leaving the Bardlings behind to marvel at the beauty of the elves’ unified movement, like watching a well-oiled machine.

“You won’t be able to fight him on that,” Tirnalil pointed out quietly when she joined him.

“I’m not a king, I’m just a bargeman. There is a Master of Laketown who will fight it!” Bard groaned.

“Thranduil won’t deal with anyone but the true king, and if he’s decided that’s you, well, nothing you can do for it. Why does he think it’s you? Not that I am disappointed. If anyone must be King of Dale, I am glad it is you. You have been nothing but kind to me.” 

“It’s because I am a descendant of Girion, who was Lord of Dale when the dragon first came. Not that it should matter. That was many years ago and that name and all his descendants lost favor when he failed to kill the beast.”

Tirnalil bit the inside of her cheek but shook her head. “But it is still your bloodline. Besides, you killed the dragon just last night. I can’t imagine anyone here would take up arms against you to declare themselves King, except for the Master, but that is nothing new, I think, from what you’ve told me.”

Bard laughed and patted her on the shoulder. “No, you’re right. Still, I do not care much for titles. Now, let’s go see where your king wants to put us up for the night. Come, my princesses and my prince.”

His children laughed heartily and skipped off after their father, and Tirnalil could only jog after them, both hands on the strap across her front to reduce the jostling to the dragon on her back. As they swept through the ruined streets, she noticed just how much of it had been made habitable in the hours since Smaug’s death. It would all need to be redone in the spring once the snow had melted and better supplies could be found, but for now, for the most part, the roofs would hold and Dale’s new inhabitants would be protected from the cold once they got fires going. Few people had overcome their fear of her, but those who had instead fell to their hands and knees as she passed, proclaiming her to be their savior and a blessing. Her stomach flipped, and she sympathized with Bard. It was not a good feeling to be so worshipped.

All around them, elves who had not been tasked with raising tents moved about the ruins to distribute food and to assist with repairs. Tirnalil’s eyes roved over all she passed, hoping to find the two she doubted Thranduil would have held back at the palace. 

At some point, she’d gotten separated from Bard and his children. She froze for a second and looked around for something to climb to reorient herself. She had just pulled herself onto the roof of a nearby building when a voice called to her from below.

“Please come down from there before that roof collapses. I would hate to remember you for such a mortal death after surviving battle with a dragon,” the voice teased drily.

“Legolas!” she squeaked, just as what he’d hinted at, happened, and she scrambled to the surviving stonework before she hopped back down to the safety of the ground. She spun on her heel in time to watch the cloud of smoke that billowed from the broken windows. “I mean, it’s probably for the best that I did that now instead of waiting for snow to collapse it, right?”

Legolas hugged her tight and rested his chin on her head. “You do not know how much gladness fills my heart to see you alive.”

“Thank you, but I won’t be alive for much longer unless you let me breathe,” Tirnalil mumbled into his front, her voice muffled.

He released her but kept an arm around her shoulder while he walked, steering her through the streets. “When we heard that you’d battled with Smaug, we only knew that you’d collapsed. We came as quickly as we could in case you’d been hurt, but I am grateful to the Valar that you have been spared from serious injury.”

“Yes, I was very lucky,” she acknowledged, but it sounded hollow even to her.

Legolas noticed, but did not comment on it beyond a heavy sigh. “What will you do now? Will you stay with us or will you return to the dwarves? My father does not think it wise for you to continue to the mountain.””

Tirnalil’s face paled and she threw her arms around Legolas’s middle, stopping them where they stood. “I’m afraid of what I will become if I enter the mountain. I can hear the gold calling to me. Smaug said that I would succumb to it, that it couldn’t be stopped.”

The elf prince stroked her hair until her breathing evened out while he carefully moved them to the side of the walkway, out of the way of the men and elves still rushing about to secure shelter for the refugees of the still-burning town on the lake. He kissed the top of her head lightly before he held her out at arm’s length, one hand on her shoulder, the other cupping her face. He wiped away a stray tear with his thumb, smiling softly at her. 

“You are not wrong to have such fears,  _ tithen pen _ , but you do not need to be governed by that fear. You are welcome to stay amongst the elves for as long as you need, but if your heart lies where I think it might, you cannot avoid the mountain forever.”

Tirnalil wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded at him. Of course he knew.

“Thank you,” Tirnalil whimpered in a watery voice, trying and failing at holding back the tears.

By the time they reached the beginning of the elven encampment just beyond the broken walls of Dale, it was practically a city by itself. Legolas led her towards the largest one, marked by a pair of tall banners on either side of the entrance, a matching pair of guards standing beside it. They bowed to their prince and his guest and allowed them to pass, letting the tent flaps fall back into place behind them with nary a sound.

Thranduil did not stand to greet them, he hardly even glanced their way. Legolas remained at Tirnalil’s side until she was comfortably seated near the growing fire at the center of the tent. With a final squeeze of her hand, he slipped back out of the tent and into the bustle beyond. Tirnalil tried to stay strong amidst the silence, but she sorely missed her best friend among the elves.

“Where is Tauriel?” she asked quietly, breaking the tense silence inside the tent.

“She has been sent to the north, to Gundabad, following the tracks of the one they call Bolg. We have received reports that an army gathers there,” Thranduil explained while pouring himself another glass of wine. He moved like a silver spectre across the chamber until he stood behind a large desk littered with maps. Absently, while sipping at his drink, he traced imaginary paths across the painted parchment before he stopped at a little marker Tirnalil knew represented the Elvenking himself.

Tirnalil struggled to stand and once she had her feet securely beneath her, she rushed to Thranduil’s side and beat her fists against his torso. “You sent her alone?”

Thranduil stood completely unmoved. When she finally gave up her abuse, he simply pushed her away. “If she is so ready to die for  _ dwarves _ , then so be it. She had better be prepared to do the same for her own kin.”

Shocked by his callousness, she snatched his cup from his hand and returned it to the smaller serving table, the movement so violent the liquid sloshed out over the rim. Some of the droplets landed on the ragged edge of her salvaged tunic, some on the tray. “You know I came to you  _ from  _ Gundabad. You know what foul things are bred there, and you sent her  _ alone _ . How could you?”

“Do not forget you are speaking to a king,” Thranduil hissed, dropping his head to her level with a hard stare. “You already forget that Tauriel was in need of discipline for her part in freeing the dwarves. You are not innocent in that either. You have only been spared punishment because I know what is coming and it would be a cruelty to forsake you now. Even beyond the reach of the forest, I can feel you fading.”

All the fire faded from her, and she fought to stay standing under the weight of his reminder. Tirnalil shuddered and sucked in a breath. “Why did you really come to Dale?”

Thranduil returned to his full height and after waiting a moment to see if she would stop him again, retrieved his glass to drink once more. He kept his back turned to her as he spoke. “I received word that two dragons had battled on the lake. Both had fallen and neither rose again. I did not know whether you had lived or died, but even if you had lived, I could not know which part of you was the victor. I swore a long time ago to destroy you if you posed a threat.”

The dragon collapsed to her hands and knees on the floor of the tent, tears blurring her vision. She’d known, some part of her at least, that he would come for her the moment she explained that she needed to reach the mountain. She just hadn’t thought he’d be so ready and unfeeling when the time came. “You came to kill me.”

“Yes, if the circumstances required it, but they did not.” Thranduil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closing while he calmed his breathing. “That business aside, I have come to retrieve from the mountain what I am owed. I have waited long enough, and now nothing stands in the way.”

She forced herself to look up at the Elvenking, her voice incredulous, “You think they’ve died?”

“The dwarves are incompetent. Did you truly think they could survive a dragon? Even you were nearly killed by it, and you have the benefit of dragon scales for armor.”

“They’re not dead,” she ground out as she pushed herself to her feet, swaying a moment before catching herself on the edge of the table. “They  _ cannot  _ be dead.”

“Tirnalil, do not be foolish. I cannot let you enter the mountain,” Thranduil said and finally turned to face her, setting down his wine glass.

“You will not stop me from looking for them,” she growled and met his stare with equal fire. “I know you asked Thorin to leave me behind. You did not succeed then, you will not succeed now.”

Thranduil inhaled sharply and stared her down with all the cold stoicism of a king. “I will. And I stand by what I told the dwarf-king. You cannot enter the mountain. You do not know what the gold will do to you.”

Her composure faltered for a second, but she stopped the shakes before they could begin in earnest.

Thranduil took a deep breath and slid his glass along the table away from him before she leaned down on his elbows and forearms. “At the very least, would you consider resting here for the night? You are too weak to make the climb tonight. Only hours ago you were half-drowned after battling a dragon.”

She could say nothing against that, but she made it very clear that she would sleep in the front chamber. She would not force the Elvenking to sleep on the floor for her sake. Smaug had dealt a fair amount of damage, but more of it lingered as bruises and aches than anything else. Bard’s shot had saved her from much worse.

Still, Thranduil snapped his fingers and two elves swiftly entered the tent to set up a cot for her in one corner of the central chamber. Tirnalil nestled her dragon in a spare blanket and placed it near the foot of the cot, tucked just underneath it. She pulled the rest of the blankets she’d been given over herself and rolled to face the tent wall.

“Wake me before sunset,” she mumbled and let herself fall into much needed sleep.

She did not wake again despite the comings and goings of the many elves and men who required the Elvenking’s audience. In the wake of Smaug’s defeat, a great many things needed to be done and done swiftly with an experienced hand.

Bard had startled when he realized she was sleeping not too far from where he sat, but she never stirred. He honestly expected her to bolt awake when the Master forced his way inside, and when that failed to rouse her, he waited for her to wake when the Master made even more of a fuss upon being forced back out. He hardly paid attention to it himself, but the Elvenking had made his opinion on the rightful king of Dale quite clear. Alfrid scurried off after the Master of No-Town, and Bard did not care to watch them go. He did hear a distant cheer go up from the townspeople as they left the camp. Throughout it all, Tirnalil slept on.

He stayed long enough to share a glass of wine, still too grateful for the Elvenking’s aid to turn down the offer. The wine was rich, better than anything he’d ever had, especially the ale that typically found its way into Laketown, but whether it was better for the company, or for the sheer fact that Smaug was dead, Bard could not have said. No matter, he toasted to the king of the wood-elves with a bright smile and redness on his cheeks before he slipped away to check on his children now that the night was nearly upon them.

Even after the new king departed from Thranduil’s tent with the darkening of the skies, Tirnalil did not wake.

Thranduil set aside his maps and his letters and set his quill back into its inkwell before he approached the cot. To his knowledge, she did not dream, had not since she woke in the body of the dragon all those years ago in Gundabad. Any dreams that came to her were creations of the dragon, trickeries and nightmares. As such, he was unconcerned to find that she had not moved a single muscle since she drifted off. Better to sleep in stillness than to be caught by nightmares. 

Distantly, he felt a stab of guilt for sending Tauriel to the north. He understood Tirnalil’s misgivings, but he could not have backed down from his position. Besides, if any would return from that place unscathed, with vital knowledge, no less, it would be Tauriel. There was a reason she had risen to such high ranks amongst his people. Still, if any harm came to her, he was certain Tirnalil would blame him for placing her dearest friend so close to danger. That they would all be in danger before long would mean little. 

A dark-haired elf entered the tent cautiously, giving the sleeping dragon a wide berth. Thranduil glanced at him out of the corner of his eye but did not speak.

“My Lord, should we wake her and move her outside the camp? It is nearly sunset,” Galion pointed out.

Thranduil shook his head, hardly a hair stirring from its immaculate state. “No, we will wait. She has never slept through the transformation.”

“But, my Lord-”

Grey eyes narrowed at the elf and Thranduil’s voice hardened, “Do you doubt me? Something is different. Do you not feel it?”

Cowed, Galion bowed and stood beside the tent’s entrance, but he kept watchful eyes on the miniature dragon sleeping under the cot. Together the king and his aide kept a silent guard over the dragon and its host. 

When night came and only torchlight and starlight illuminated the way outside, the dragon at the foot of the bed stirred for the first time, its lone wing fluttering with an aborted attempt to fly, but did not rise. Its breath whistled between sharp teeth, echoed by the rattle in Tirnalil’s lungs further up the bed.

It was the first night that she did not take the dragon’s form.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold sickness is not something to be trifled with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 300 hits, guys, I'm gonna cry 😭 this makes me so happy.
> 
> Always thanks to those of you still commenting! I hope you all enjoy this latest chapter.
> 
> If you ever want to feel sad, Tirnalil has a theme song, "Walk through the fire," by Klergy.

Bilbo watched the red dragon plummet from the sky with almost a sick fascination. Through the darkness, he could only just make out the immense form of that foul beast, illuminated by the fire of Laketown. The mountain was too far away to hear the splash of his body striking the water. He waited and waited, but it did not emerge again. At the edge of the town, the white of her scales shimmered like a beacon against the blackness of the lakewater. Tirnalil had not risen since Smaug’s descent, and Bilbo feared that it had fallen to him to relay the news to the dwarves, all of whom had descended to the treasury as soon as Smaug escaped.

A pair of ravens shot above his head and into the mountain as he turned away from the burning town. Carefully, the hobbit crept down the maze of hallways, following a line of lit torches and the shadows of the ravens ahead of him. The dwarves had seen their hobbit stumble one time too many too close to the edges of the suspended walkways. Had Bilbo seen it then, as their last moments of real clarity, perhaps he would not have groused so fiercely over being so coddled. He had been the one to sneak past the dragon and steal back the Arkenstone from it, not them. He could see passably well enough.

He halted at the top of the stairs that led down into the treasure and bit the inside of his cheek at the sight that awaited him.

The mountains of gold stood so tall that Thorin appeared to be swimming when he walked between them, his arms stretched out to either side, picking up this or that gem before tossing it back into the vast sea of wealth around him. Every hair on the back of the hobbit’s neck stood straight up, and he couldn’t disguise his shudder, grateful to be so removed from the king that he passed unnoticed.

Thorin was deep in the throes of the gold-sickness.

Worse yet, his nephews appeared to be in the same thrall. Indeed all the dwarves appeared affected. Although only Thorin had taken up the heavy mantle of the Raven Crown and an equally weighty cloak lined in fur, none went without some new glittery jewel upon their person.

He thrusts his hands into his pockets, the fingers of his right hand toying with the ring while his left passed over the smooth surface of the Arkenstone. The king would desire it above all else, something about it being a sign from the heavens that he was meant to be the king under the mountain. The other clans would rally around whoever possessed it, or so he’d been told, but the Thorin that stood before him now was no king. Steeling himself, Bilbo thrust the Arkenstone deeper into his pocket and rubbed his hands together. With a final deep breath, he descended the stairs and pulled at Balin’s shirt sleeve. Had to figure that he’d be the least likely to strike him where he stood.

“Smaug is dead, but Tirnalil may be as well,” Bilbo declared without preamble.

“Ah, so we are rid of two dragons then. Very good then. I shall write to Dain at once,” the old dwarf declared happily. With a snap of his fingers, one of the ravens that had flown in ahead of Bilbo soared over and landed on the exposed hilt of a sword in a neighboring pile. Bilbo did not understand that Khuzdul that Balin whispered to the bird, but not long after, it took off again, its companion close behind.

Bilbo blinked, stunned and dumbfounded, then moved on to the next, Ori, and repeated himself until he made it through nearly all of them. None seemed to have any care for their fallen companion at all. Invariably each one of them had tried to press jewels and coins towards the hobbit, proclaiming that he ought to rejoice in the bounty as well. The death of the dragon Smaug deserved a celebration, and he had more than earned his share.

Beyond aggravated, he rounded at last on Fili, for he dare not disturb the king, the madness in his eyes all too apparent. He snatched up the string of rubies set in a chain of gold that Fili had been eyeing and tossed it far, far away from them, and glared at the dwarf prince, daring him to retaliate. When the dwarf did not, instead staring dumbly after the discarded rubies, he released the breath he’d been holding and began again.

“Smaug is dead, but Tirnalil may be as well.”

For the span of too many heartbeats Fili simply stood there, glassy-eyed, and Bilbo very nearly repeated himself, uncertain if the words had even been processed behind the fog of the gold-sickness. Then, all at once, all color left the prince’s face and he stumbled several paces back, only coming to a stop when his back struck one of the many pillars that dotted the room. Bilbo jogged after him and waited for the prince’s breathing to slow from the sharp gasps to smoother breaths..

“What did you see?” he rasped, eyes wide with fear and disbelief, but clear beneath the haze of tears.

“They fought, but even after Smaug fell, Tirnalil didn’t move. I stayed on the ramparts as long as I could, Fili,” Bilbo paused and placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder, “but she hadn’t moved.”

“She couldn’t have died. I would have felt it,” Fili mumbled quietly, so quietly that Bilbo couldn’t be sure if the words had been meant to be heard. The prince pushed himself away from the pillar, swaying for a moment, before he planted his feet more securely. “I need to get back to Laketown.”

“Before you do that, I need your help. The others, they’ve been affected by the gold. We can’t leave them like this. I fear what we might return to if we did.”

Fili’s distraught expression worsened when he looked over Bilbo’s shoulders towards the rest of the company. Every one of them was muttering under their breaths as they fawned over the trinkets and treasures. He forced his eyes shut at the monster wearing Thorin’s skin, for the dwarf he’d grown up idolizing would never weigh himself down under so much finery. That dwarf was gone.

“What can we do?”

“Isolate Thorin. We must free the others before Thorin, the quicker the better. Dwarves value family before wealth. We must force him to see what he loses by choosing gold.” Fili’s eyes scanned the ocean of wealth around them before settling on Bilbo with an icy resolve. “Above all else, we cannot let him find the Arkenstone first.”

“He won’t find it first, don’t worry. I have it.” Bilbo patted the inner pocket of his coat with a grim smile that was answered by a sharp inhale from Fili.

“He will kill you if he discovers you’ve taken it for yourself. Perhaps you should go to Dale for the time being until I can get through to him.”

“I won’t leave him.” Bilbo stomped his foot against the floor and balled his hands into fists at his side.

Something in Fili softened at the hobbit’s words. He shook his head and grinned at the hobbit. “If we can get in a good enough hit, that should be enough to snap most of them out of it. Try not to let Dwalin kill you. Actually, let me take care of Dwalin.”

Carefully, the pair of them used Bilbo’s curious ability to go unseen to separate each of the dwarves. They targeted Ori first. Bilbo, invisible even to Fili, snatched a glimmering chain of emeralds right from under Ori’s nose and bobbed it up and down to make the dwarf jump after it, running around the mounds of gold until they had a solid wall of it dividing Ori from the view of the others. So distracted by the dancing emeralds, Ori never saw Fili’s fist coming until he dropped to the floor, dazed.

Bilbo reappeared at Fili’s side to wait for Ori to come back to himself. With a groan, the young dwarf pushed himself up to sit up, clutching his head.

“Oh, what’s happened? Why’ve I got such a nasty headache?” he whined.

“You were gold-sick,” Fili said bluntly. “We need your help to knock the sense back into the others.”

“He means that literally,” Bilbo explained. At Ori’s confused expression, he continued, “he punched you.”

Before Ori could complain about it, Fili jumped to his own defense, “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Enough, we don’t have a lot of time,” Bilbo cut in before Ori could whine more about the abuse.

“What do you mean?”

“Smaug is dead, but Tirnalil might not have survived either. If there’s a chance she’s still alive, I need to see her,” Fili spoke up, but he kept his eyes glued to the floor. 

Ori fumbled through checking all his pockets, emptying them of all the coins and jewels and trinkets that had found their way there until laughing victoriously, he held up his trusted slingshot. “What do you need me to do?”

With Ori’s unparalleled aim with his slingshot on their side, they made quick work of getting the other dwarves back to normal. Bilbo would entice one down one path through the gold while Fili distracted another. The whizz of a coin soaring through the air and the thump of it against a dwarven head, and slowly the company regained its senses.

All except for Thorin.

Balin and Ori crouched behind a partially buried chest, eyes locked on their king. He’d already shot off no less than five coins and three rubies of increasing size, but they’d had no effect.

“Why isn’t it working,” Ori muttered, stuffing his slingshot back into his pocket.

“I’m afraid our king is sicker than we realized. We must get him away from the treasure. Perhaps the pull of it will be weaker and we might be able to reason with him,” Balin suggested.

Even with twelve dwarves and one hobbit, none could stomach the thought of harming their king. They never stood a chance.

Bilbo approached the king on silent feet. He cleared his throat to get Thorin’s attention, and when Thorin first looked over his shoulder, it was with suspicion and ice in his eyes. However, upon realizing the hobbit now stood before him, the look softened and he went back to searching the pile with a startling ferocity. Bilbo risked taking his eyes off him for a second, glancing over his shoulder to where twelve heads peeked out at him from either side of the hallway entrance. He felt a bit better knowing they were so close and able to lend a hand if necessary, but he hoped he wouldn’t need it. He still couldn’t believe that they’d volunteered him to try to talk some sense into their king.

Thorin made a happy noise and lifted something to inspect it, but Bilbo couldn’t tell what it was from behind the bulk of the king’s figure obscured underneath the heavy cloak.

“Bilbo, Bilbo, look what I have found for you,” Thorin whispered reverently as he turned from the latest pile of treasure he’d found for himself.

Behind him, Bilbo gulped so loudly he feared the sound might echo in the vast chamber.

“A mithril shirt to protect you from all harm. No blade can pierce it,” Thorin explained and held it out to the hobbit.

And truthfully it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, the fine hoops of the shining metal catching the firelight just so. It shimmered such a sparkling silver that it was nearly blinding even in the near dark. The single torch did not do much against the overwhelming dark of the still mostly uninhabited mountain.

Bilbo opened his mouth as if to speak, but his jaw snapped closed again at the feel of the king’s hands at his waist.

“Thorin, no, no, no, let me do it,” he rushed through the words and, snatching the shirt from the king, made quick work of his shirt and vest. He fought to keep his fingers moving despite the blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. Hopefully the rest of the company would look away. He could feel the lust in the king’s eyes, but he did not want to consider that it was the gold-lust now that was driving him. Once he slipped back into his regular clothes, the mithril against his skin, he chanced a glance at the king. His pupils were so blown, the piercing blue he’d grown to cherish was all but absent.

“You are so beautiful,” Thorin mumbled, “so beautiful. I cannot wait to see how much more beautiful you would look wearing my beads, wearing things crafted with my own hand.”

Bilbo could have cried. Such sweet words, but they were spoken from a dark place. Thorin could not know what he was doing to him. The dwarf was breaking his heart. He choked back a sob and returned the king’s embrace with a fraction of his usual fervor, willing his heart to slow down.

When he finally felt able to speak, he did not raise his head, merely turned his face to the side so that his words would not be lost in the thick fur Thorin still had draped over his shoulders. “Thorin, please, you are not yourself.”

“I know, I am not king, not truly, until we have found the Arkenstone,” Thorin agreed at once.

“No, Thorin,” Bilbo struggled to push himself away from the king, but Thorin’s arms bound him tightly to his chest. Tears welled up in the corners of the hobbit’s eyes and he succeeded in getting two hands on Thorin’s chest to put some distance between them even though Thorin had yet to release him. “Thorin, let me go. You are sick. Please.”

“What are you talking about? How could I be sick? Erebor has been returned to us. I am home. All that is left is the Arkenstone. Once we find it, I will be King Under the Mountain, and you shall want for nothing,” Thorin promised and bent down, and that was the final straw for Bilbo.

The hobbit slipped his hand back into his pocket and used the split second of surprise to wriggle out of Thorin’s grasp. He would not let this corruption of Thorin ruin whatever they’d been building between them. Bilbo reappeared a few steps away from Thorin and he could feel more than hear the other dwarves come to stand behind him. He swallowed down his shame as best he could and withdrew the only thing this Thorin seemed to care about.

Even in the low light, there could be no mistaking the King’s Jewel as a mere trinket. It shimmered with every color under the rainbow and with a brightness to rival the moon. Bilbo held it out almost in offering, but his hands were steady and his heart drummed a feverish beat in his throat. He would not relinquish the stone easily.

“Thorin, I have it. I took the Arkenstone,” Bilbo admitted, “I feared that you’d fall victim to the gold-sickness, and clearly you’ve proved that I was right. I had hoped you would be stronger than this.”

Thorin snarled, blue eyes flashing. He stepped forward immediately but was halted by the point of a spear being lowered at his chest by one of the hobbit’s dwarven guards. “Enough, burglar. Return to me what is mine by rights.”

Bilbo cradled the Arkenstone against his chest, half-turned away from Thorin. “Not until you snap out of this. This mountain is yours only because of Tirnalil. Do you even care about her? We ought to be down on the lake right now, looking for her. She might be dying this very moment. Does that not bother you?”

“That’s enough. That beast would kill us all if it so much as had the chance. I shall not weep for the loss.”

Bilbo deflated and he very nearly dropped the Arkenstone to the floor. Tirnalil had always been a friend to him, and to them all, even though they hadn’t deserved it. And he knew it wasn’t Thorin, not the real Thorin speaking, but whatever the mechanism behind the corruption of his heart, he also knew that it twisted what Thorin already believed. He had never been pleased to have a dragon on their tail. Bilbo had been a fool to think Thorin would ever work past his prejudices against her.

Behind the hobbit, Fili had absolutely shattered by the declaration. He’d always known it to be foolish to even entertain the thought that he might be able to find happiness with Tirnalil at his side, but to hear his uncle so callously cast her aside, his heart could not bear it.

“Well, if that’s what you really think, what you really, truly think, we’ll be going now. Fili, Kili, if you’d be so kind,” Bilbo muttered in the hopes that he might be able to get past the barricade the dwarves had formed behind him.

Instead, the two princes stepped around Bilbo and stood on either side, twin glares on their faces. When they attempted to leave, however, the long curved edge of Orcrist appeared at their necks.

“Leave the stone,” Thorin growled. His sword arm did not waver.

“No.” It took every last ounce of Bilbo’s courage, now bolstered by the princes beside him, to stand up to the imposing figure of the would-be King Under the Mountain, but he did it. He didn’t so much as blink.

“Give me the STONE!” Thorin bellowed and surged forward, striking Bilbo squarely in the temple with the pommel of the blade.

Apparently that was all it took. Seeing Bilbo fall back, clutching his forehead as the blood dripped down his face, the glassy quality faded from his eyes the very same moment. Orcrist clattered to the floor forgotten. Thorin stepped closer, his footsteps soft where before they’d rivaled oliphants, but his nephews blocked Bilbo from his view immediately, hands on their own weapons. Fili flicked his dagger round and round his finger with a nervous edge and from behind him, Bilbo gently caught his wrist to still the movement. 

“Bilbo, I- I’m so sorry, please forgive me,” Thorin practically sobbed into his hands where he’d collapsed to his knees.

“You’ve done enough, Thorin. You can keep the Arkenstone, but I- I- I- I think, I think the boys and I shall pop on down back to Dale for a bit.”

“Bilbo, please.” Thorin attempted to reach out to him as his nephews began to escort him away, but this time, it was Dwalin and Balin who stepped forward from the line. They gave the trio room to pass while simultaneously moving to stand beside the fallen king.

“Enough, Thorin,” Bilbo forced out through gritted teeth without turning to face him. “I’ve wasted enough time here”

“It’s dark.”

“Yes, I can see that quite well, thank you very much,” Bilbo retorted. He could not keep the venom from his words, and even he winced upon hearing himself.

Thorin’s voice was soft when he next spoke, “You know what I meant.”

“I do, and I don’t care. Since you don’t care about Tirnalil, I don’t expect you to understand, but I really must be going now.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin begged and pressed his forehead to the cool stone.

Balin stepped in right then, holding their king back with a gentle touch to his shoulder. “My King, Bilbo will be in the company of your nephews. He does not go unguarded. Let them go.”

Thorin looked absolutely miserable when Bilbo snuck a final glance over his shoulder, but he didn’t resist Balin. He watched Bilbo depart from Erebor with his nephews on either side. When at last they faded from his sight, swallowed up by the dark, he fell back against his hands and kicked his legs out ahead of him. Suddenly, all the gold in the world meant very little. He cast off his crown and shed the heavy fur cloak from his shoulders, dragging in a ragged breath.

“What will I do?” he moaned.

“I fear you will have to apologize for the rest of your life, my King, but I do not think you have lost him, nor the boys, for good. They carry a deep, deep love for you, as we all do. The hurts you have caused tonight run deep, but they know you were not yourself.”

Indeed, all of the members remaining of the company looked upon their king with no small measure of sadness, for they had been witness to the abuse he’d dealt to their hobbit. They’d all fallen in love with the strange creature, so full of kindness and hope. They had found a friend in him, where Thorin had seen a liability. Truly, he could see the comparison now in the way he’d treated Tirnalil, but while he had eventually allowed the hobbit’s defense of him to break past the defenses around his heart, he gave no such allowances to the dragon. He’d wronged them both.

“I hurt my One, Balin.”

Thorin wept openly and looked to his advisor with only the deepest sorrow in his eyes. He had not even known until that moment that Bilbo was his One. He had not thought to look for such a bond in a lowly hobbit whose chief concern was the number of meals in the day, yet Mahal had thought him fit to receive such a blessing that few other dwarves ever encountered. And he’d squandered the opportunity.

The old dwarf nodded sagely. “Aye, that you did.”

“How can he forgive me after what I did to him?”

“Prove yourself to him and never hurt him again. That is all you can do. For now, I feel we are all in need of a good rest.”

* * *

Tirnalil almost couldn’t contain the excited noise that threatened to tear itself from her throat when she realized she’d fallen asleep and stayed asleep in Thranduil’s tent for the entire night. She peeked beneath her blanket, and, yes, her clothes were still intact. She hadn’t transformed. For the first time in centuries of living with her curse, she hadn’t taken the dragon’s form during the night. She’d beaten it. She was finally strong enough to keep their forms separate even in her sleep.

Careful to avoid unnecessary noise, she slid her feet back into her boots and fastened her ever-enduring elvish cloak around her. As small as it was, she stole a knife from the serving table, still holding Thranduil’s dishes from whatever dinner he’d had while she slept, and cut the blanket down until it was small enough to fit the dragon and secure it around her waist. She slid it around her stomach until the dragon sat in the small of her back, and after a final check for anyone watching for her escape, ducked beneath the edge of the tent and darted out into the early morning light.

She kept her eyes on the mountain the entire time she ran through the elves’ camp. Just before she reached the perimeter, a pair of hands dragged her back behind another of the tent.

“Bard?” she gasped when she realized who it was, craning her neck back to look him in the eyes.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asked and released his grip on her shoulders. He looked exhausted, to be frank, but his expression was open and kind. He would not be sounding any alarms that she’d left.

“I’m always up this early,” she countered with a shrug that made her flinch. She must have tweaked something in her shoulder when she threw herself against Smaug, or when she threw herself against the stone gates of Erebor. Tough to say which.

Bard jerked his chin at her affected shoulder, her wince not escaping his notice. “Aye, but so soon after battling a dragon?”

“Could say the same about you.” She sniffled and rolled her shoulder until the ache lessened.

“You are deflecting, Tirnalil.”

Head bowed, she mumbled at the ground, “I have to get to the mountain.”

Bard’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to one side, folding his arms across his chest. “You need to or the dragon? I do not mean to cause offense, but you had expressed it only two nights ago that you feared the effect of the gold.”

Tirnalil waved away his concern. “No, you’re right. It’s just, I need to see them. Thranduil doesn’t believe they survived. I have to see for myself.”

“Let me walk with you at least. You should not make the trip alone.”

“What about Tilda, or Sigrid and Bain?” Tirnalil asked, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t been able to see much of the children since she’d slept the entire afternoon and evening away.

“They are fine, but tired. Adrenaline does strange things to a person, and children are no different. They deserve their rest.”

“I’m glad I could at least save them,” Tirnalil muttered and resumed her trek towards the mountain, but Bard caught up to her before long, bumping his shoulder against hers.

He smiled down at her when she finally met his gaze. She could not bring herself to smile back. “Do not doubt the hardiness of your dwarves. Thorin would not give up his mountain so easily. And what of his nephew, Fini? Philip?”

“Fili,” Tirnalil corrected absently.

Bard laughed. “Aye, Fili. What of him? Don’t deny it. I have an archer’s eyes, you know. I could see the bond you two share plain as day. Besides, Tilda could speak of little else last night. She seems to think you need her help.”

Tirnalil groaned into her hands before carding her fingers through her hair.

“Don’t worry, Sigrid and Bain agree with her. They are planning something, but I’m afraid I left before they finished that conversation.” Bard chuckled at the blush coloring Tirnalil’s cheeks. “When all this is over, if you have not confessed your feelings to the dwarf, I am afraid I cannot protect you from the scheming of my children, but not a word shall escape my lips.”

“Thank you,” Tirnalil mumbled, pressing on despite the ache in her lungs. She forced herself to keep her breathing even lest the new King of Dale forcibly return her to the elves’ camp, but the closer they got to the mountain, the harder it was to keep a straight face. 

Too close to the mountain to turn around, Bard grabbed her by the back of the collar and forced her to sit. She had just opened her mouth to protest when she caught the sound of new voices on the wind, just on the other side of the rise. Bard kept her from rising with a hand on her shoulder, digging in his fingers when she still tried to stand.

“Who is it?” she asked, craning her neck but seeing nothing more than rocks and more rocks.

Bard did not answer immediately, instead shifting his weight to the tips of his feet, standing as tall as he could. He grinned down at her, patting her on the back, and replied, “You’ll see soon enough.”

Her heart thudded against her ribcage as Fili came over the hill, golden hair like a halo around his face. The exhaustion on his face morphed into relief and he broke into a run, crossing the distance between them and gathering her up into a tight hug. Tirnalil hadn’t even noticed Bard backing away to give them space, or she might have kicked him by accident when Fili spun her around.

“I thought you’d been killed,” he whispered into her hair, pressing multiple kisses against the dark strands, when he set her feet back down. His arms remained tight around her.

She gave a short, breathless laugh. “It will take a lot more than a dragon to kill me, Master Dwarf.”

“Let us hope we never see it come to pass,” Fili murmured before he released her from the hug but intertwined their fingers, pressing his forehead to hers. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I shall endeavor not to,” Tirnalil whispered back before pulling away.

Bilbo coughed from somewhere to her left, and Tirnalil remembered they were not alone. The vivid blush returned to her cheeks, and she nervously tucked her hair back behind her ears before she turned to face the other three.

Kili grinned so widely she thought his face might split. “I’m glad you’re not dead. We owe you our thanks for killing Smaug.”

“Actually, Bard was the one who killed him. He struck him down with a Black Arrow,” Tirnalil corrected.

Both dwarves gasped audibly and spun their heads towards the sheepish Bard, who raised both hands as if to wave off their next words.

True to form, he rapidly began to mutter, “No, no, no, no, I got lucky. I fired a single shot. Tirnalil had already worn him down. I had very little to do with it. The credit is hers.”

“You fired the killing blow, Bard. No matter what I did, the honor of the kill is yours. You will go down in history as Bard the Dragonslayer,” Tirnalil continued to push.

Bard sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “You are as difficult as the Elvenking. No matter, I have delivered you back to your dwarves. Are you certain you wish to continue to Erebor? Are you certain you are ready to enter the mountain?”

Tirnalil nodded stiffly.

“Very well,” Bard huffed but refocused his attention on Kili and Bilbo. “If you all are going to return to the mountain, there is something you should know. War is coming to Erebor.”

“War?” Fili’s hand tightened around Tirnalil’s.

“Yes, there is at least one army coming from the west, but Tauriel has been sent to the north to confirm the reports that a second army marches from Gundabad,” Tirnalil explained and watched Kili’s face fall.

Kili summoned up his courage and put on a stern expression. “Thorin must be warned. We won’t be losing the mountain so soon.”

“Agreed, we have no time to waste,” Fili said and turned away to head back up the way they’d come.

“Thank you for the company, boys, but I think I shall continue on to Dale for the time being. I will come back, but I need some time,” Bilbo said and made his way over to a confused Bard. He exhaled shakily and began to walk towards the sprawling tent city below the mountain.

Before Tirnalil could take more than one step to follow the dwarves, Bard jogged up to catch her wrist. “Be careful. Please.”

“Of course,” the dragon promised though her smile was weak. A little ways ahead of her, Fili had paused to watch the exchange, worry marring his gentle features. She struggled to smile more genuinely for him, but Bard’s expression suggested her efforts still fell short.

Bard did not comment on it. He clapped her on the shoulder and gestured for her to go. He lingered on the plains before Erebor for another moment before beginning his own solitary trek back to Dale, his longer stride allowing him to pull up alongside Bilbo before long. 

Despite the uphill climb, Tirnalil found her breaths came more easily now that she had Fili in her sights. He kept a close watch on her, but did not mention Bard’s parting words, although Tirnalil could see he wanted so desperately to ask. Ahead of them, Kili darted up the slope with the agility and fearlessness of a young goat until he reached the broken stone gate. 

Massive chunks of the stonework littered the entrance into the mountain. Streaks of gold had solidified into patterns of draconian footprints, and Tirnalil shuddered at the memory of the battle. She hadn’t had the time to be scared of falling then, but now she remembered how close she’d been to death. Just one good barrel roll and she could have fallen to her death.

Fili tugged her towards one of the boulders, nudging her along until she was forced to sit. She hadn’t even realized she’d frozen in place.

“I’m going to go ahead to let Thorin know about the army. Will you two be alright?” Kili asked, turning around to watch them even as he walked backwards into the hall. He expertly dodged both the smaller rocks and the larger boulders scattered across the floor despite not having eyes on them.

Tirnalil did not answer him, but Fili must have because his brother quickly scurried off, his footsteps fading until only the sound of her own breaths filled her ears.

“While we’re here, perhaps we should take the time to give you a tour of the place? I’ll admit I don’t know all the halls yet, but I have a strong enough stone sense to find my way around. Consider it, taking inventory, finding what rooms and such are still stable and usable,” Fili offered.

“I suppose that’s not the worst idea.” Tirnalil wavered at the edge of the broken gate, small against the background of the giant boulders that Smaug had left in his haste to flee.

“We are not under the threat of the gold-sickness any longer. We will be able to protect you from yourself, Tirnalil, if that’s what’s holding you back. You don’t have to step inside until you’re ready. I’ll wait out here with you.”

“No, no, I think I’m ready. I didn’t transform last night. I think I’m finally stronger than the dragon. I can do this.”

They explored the upper levels, far from the treasury below. Fili showed her the royal wing untouched by the dragon’s flame, where his uncle would stay in the king’s quarters, then the room where his mother would move in once she made the journey from the Blue Mountains, and two other rooms across from each other, one for each of the crown princes. Further down the same hall, the rooms were much smaller, but Tirnalil assured Fili that she didn’t mind, considering she might not be able to sleep there during the night, being a dragon and all that. She hoped the previous night hadn’t been a fluke, but she had to be prepared for the crushing weight of reality if it was.

At some point, she stopped responding to his questions, and Fili didn’t notice at first. He’d assumed she’d fallen silent from awe. The architecture within Erebor was unrivaled, unparalleled. Even after sixty years with a dragon under its roof, Erebor’s splendor was not beyond the reach of the dwarves to fully restore it. The dwarves had built it to last, after all. Gold leaf could be replaced, but the structure left behind had been mostly intact except for where the dragon’s claws had left their marks.

It was too late by the time Fili realized that Tirnalil had fallen to the dragon sickness. Try as he might to pull her back towards the surface and away from the stairs down to the treasury, she moved forward undaunted, steps slow but unyielding. The strength of the dragon surged through her and completely overpowered his attempts to hold her back. She dragged them both to the treasury, and while she lingered just inside in the doorway, he took his chance and shouted to the dwarves that were sorting through the piles below, setting aside weaponry and armor for the war ahead.

“Something’s wrong, help me!” he hollered, his voice echoing in the vast chamber.

Thorin turned in time to see Tirnalil’s eyes flash black as she grabbed Fili’s arm and used his own body weight to throw him over her head and slam him against the stone. The very next moment, with Fili groaning on the floor, she stumbled back, her chest heaving as her breaths became erratic. She backed into the nearest wall and slid down its slick surface, gasping for air.

“GET HER OUT!” Thorin bellowed and rushed forwards to help Fili back to his feet before Tirnalil could strike him again. 

No one else had moved, struck into silence by the sheer violence of Tirnalil’s earlier actions. With shaky steps, one by one, they were stirred from their stupor. Dwalin and Kili came around first, pushing at the other dwarves to move them up the stairs, past Tirnalil, and out of the treasury. As soon as enough of them began to move, Kili forced his way through to Thorin and Fili.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a panic.

“I will be, but someone needs to get her out. And quick,” Fili gasped around spasms of pain.

When Tirnalil screamed, a sound so raw and full of pain, their hopes of removing her from the treasury were dashed. Their eyes fell on the shivering form of their dragon companion, and they knew they had not yet dodged this last hurdle.

They had replaced one dragon for another.

Tirnalil dropped to her knees with a second, even more gut-wrenching scream, her hands tugging fistfuls of dark hair, as she hardly stopped for breath. She would breathe in only to start screaming again, and none dared to approach her, all of them afraid of what terror lay beneath the surface. Fili took a shaky step forward, but both Balin and his uncle hastily pulled him back. They never turned away from her, but worked together to herd all the rest of the company completely out of the treasure hall, eyes never leaving the trembling woman who had tipped forward onto her hands and knees, head pressed against the stone.

Scarcely a sound could be heard save for her labored breathing, and then something strange happened. She tucked her legs beneath her and rose, face tipped toward the ceiling, then she snapped her head towards them where they stood with swords out at the single entrance, eyes the pitch black of the dragon.

“Run,” a dark voice snickered, and though her lips moved, it was as if the fell voice resounded in their minds rather than their ears. The sound of that cruel laughter filled their heads and rooted their feet to the floor, even as she rose to her feet and with a sickening crack, a single leathery wing tore itself free of her tunic. She dropped again to her hands and knees, and the next time she spoke it was in the voice they had grown to know, but tinged with fear, “Fili. You promised.”

Then, the girl they knew was gone and in its place was a fearsome white dragon, covered in scars, missing a wing, chest glowing with white light as it moved forward, one massive paw in front of the other, tail lashing out behind it with sinister excitement.

Even as the company fled from the treasury, Fili pushed his way through the throng of dwarves, but at the last second, Thorin grasped his elbow and held fast.

“I made a vow, Uncle, and I shall keep it,” he said with a stoic expression.

The dragon never stopped its advance.

“The last Black Arrow was spent on Smaug, Fili,” Thorin reminded him, seizing his face with both hands and forcing him to look away from the dragon. “We have  _ nothing  _ left that is capable of killing that beast.”

“I cannot turn my back on her,” Fili protested, yanking himself free. He stared into the face of the beast, taking in the smoke trails rising from around its massive teeth and the glow of its chest. Bilbo had been the only one to see it fight with Smaug, but from what little he had seen, the creature that now stood before him was the truest reflection of the power she’d fought so long to keep restrained. It was larger now than he’d ever seen it, larger than even Smaug had been. He gulped loudly. “She trusted us to be able to end this, and I will not betray that trust.”

“We survived orcs, wargs, and one dragon already. I cannot let you die for this,” Thorin shouted and tackled Fili in time to roll them both out of the path of the white hot dragon flame that erupted from the dragon’s open maw. “We must regroup with the others. You cannot kill her by yourself.”

Thorin tugged his nephew up by the arm and sprinted to the open doorway before the dragon could find them amid the sea of gold, each step hard won against the slide of the coins underfoot. The others had already run off, and he could not blame them with the danger so near. They had no time to rationally decide which direction anyone had gone when another burst of flame licked at their heels, forcing Thorin to hide them both behind a stone column.

It was a tight fit, as the creature seemed to have grown since its battle against Smaug, but it forced its way through the tall doorway into the treasure hall, leaving great cracks in the elegant stone framework. Truly, how much effort Tirnalil had put into keeping its true power in check, they feared they might never know, but Thorin could now begin to understand why she was in a near constant state of exhaustion. Its power unchecked, it was a vile thing indeed.

“I can smell you, Oakenshield,” it sneered, sweeping its head back and forth as it stood in the doorway, inhaling theatrically. When it exhaled, great waves of hot steam filled the air around them before dissipating. “The little one has an affection for the one you call Fili. It would bring me no greater joy than to kill him first.”

Thorin darted out from behind the column and pulled Fili with him to duck behind another just as the dragon struck their initial hiding place with its tail, the blades wedging themselves deep within the stone, but sliding out with the ease of a hot knife through butter.

The dragon snarled, and the room grew bright for a moment with the glow of the fire growing in its chest. Thorin held his breath and held his nephew tighter against him.

“You cannot hide forever, sons of Durin,” it chuckled darkly, and the glow dimmed. Heavy footfalls signaled its departure down another hall, and they took their chance to increase the distance between them in the hope that they might find the others before the dragon did.

Knowing their own swords were powerless against the thick hide and the enormous bulk of the beast, they made a pit stop at the armory, or what was left of it, after they must have climbed no less than a dozen flights of stairs and gotten lost more times than that. Fili went to one side of the enormous room and Thorin to the other, both of them hastily sifting what remained of the collection of spears, halberds, flails, and whole tables of battle axes, searching for something that might be capable of felling a dragon. Then, Fili tore down a moth-eaten curtain from a back wall and could not stop the solitary sob that escaped him at what he found.

Thorin could not have guessed whether it was a sound of relief or one of despair, but his heart hurt when he looked at the shaking shoulders of his nephew.

Four Black Arrows. Mounted on a set of hooks set into the wall, they hung there ready for use, as deadly as the day they’d been forged. Below it, a massive crossbow meant to be mounted to something heavy enough to withstand the pulling force needed to make the arrows truly lethal. Kili was the better archer, but Fili had been the one who promised to bring her down should the need ever arise.

It was meant to be hypothetical. He wished it had never come to pass. 

Thorin silently joined him at the display and started removing the arrows from the wall, wrapping each in a piece of cloth so they would be silent even when lashed together in case they might need to run again. He took the crossbow down and passed it to Fili, who accepted it with a small nod of his head, clenching his jaw.

Then, they departed from the armory. They’d found what they needed to kill the dragon, now Fili only needed to find his courage.

The dragon, they knew, would find them.

A flash of white light in the distance meant that it had found some unlucky member of the company, and Fili was the first to start running that way, his uncle not more than a step behind.

Tirnalil, no, the white dragon, for it was Tirnalil no longer, had cornered Ori in a hallway that had been blocked off halfway by the collapse of the ceiling. Smoke danced around the corners of its massive jaws, and it summoned the white glow again for a second blast of flame.

Fili knelt and upon finding a large stone with his fingers, lobbed it at her before he had the wherewithal to rethink his actions. Dimly, some part of him was aware of a frustrated noise from his uncle’s direction before the dwarf ducked out of sight.

The glow dimmed as the dragon took in the fact that a rock had just struck it in the hindquarters then grew again in brightness when it turned to find Fili staring at it dumbstruck. Its tail whipped around behind it with all the lazy movement of a cat surveying a mouse.

“ _ Fili _ ,” it crooned, “there you are.”

Its horned head dropped low to lock him in its gaze, and he could feel the full force of the heat of its fire, his lungs burned from the smoke wafting between its teeth. Every inch of his skin felt like it was already aflame. He could not hold back that relieved gasp when it finally pulled its head back and away. He fell to his knees just as his legs quit on him. From behind its hind leg, he could just make out the silhouette of his Uncle scurrying off with Ori under his arm, both of them keeping their heads low to avoid being struck down again by its sweeping tail. 

“I can see you have found more arrows,  _ Fiiiiiliiiiiiii _ .” Its voice felt like ice piercing him. “But do you really think you can kill me? In this state, I would not even consider you capable of killing a fly. You cannot destroy me, even if you had the aim, you have not the courage.”

It shuffled two steps back and lowered its head again, that horrid white glow rising in its chest, up its throat. He knew what was coming. He knew what he had to do.

But he couldn’t move.

He had promised he would destroy the dragon if she was lost. But he couldn’t move.

There was a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye and he might have heard a shout, but in the last moments before dragonfire would surely have engulfed him, a body struck him from the side and sent them rolling from the walkway together, down a flight of stairs before they finally came to a stop when the stairway turned. Groaning and struggling to assess any new injuries, Fili pulled himself free of his savior, he supposed it was, for all the good it had done him to freeze up standing there by himself.

A large hand thwacked him across the side of his head before he could refocus his eyes to see who he should thank, and he had to kneel to stop the ringing.

“You’re no good to anyone in this state. I don’t know what you promised her, nor do I care, but we will grant her a good death if it is in our power to do so. She does not leave Erebor alive,” came the voice of his uncle at his right.

He raised his head and could not hide the sorrow from his eyes.

“Fili, you will stay here. We’ll take care of her,” his uncle swore, pressing their foreheads together.

_ It has to be me _ , he wanted to protest, but all his energy was focused on holding back the tears. So he set his jaw and nodded. He sat back down on the stone steps, both hands buried in his golden locks, while Thorin, Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, and Kili stormed back up the steps, weapons drawn.

Fili trusted that they would be able to do what he could not. They had the skill and none of the emotional attachment. They had to destroy the dragon before it could leave Erebor.

_ But _ , and his hands came away from his hair the longer he thought on it,  _ but it didn’t seem to want to leave Erebor at all. _

Tirnalil had to still be in there. She had to be the reason why the dragon hadn’t tried to leave the mountain. She was not lost to them yet. They still had a chance.

In his haste to share his revelation with those who had gone before him, his hands were empty when he emerged on the main level, his sword forgotten. Immediately those inky black eyes turned to him, flickering with the reflection of the smaller fires that sprouted randomly along the wide hallway from this or that tapestry that had gone up in flames. It turned to face him, and he tried not to focus on the motionless body that lay on the floor where it had stood. He could not afford to lose his focus now.

The clatter and scrape of metal against the stone floor underfoot only caught his attention for a moment because in trying to step over it without looking, he nearly tripped anyway. A Black Arrow. Kili might have missed the shot or might never have gotten the chance to take it before being consumed by fire, but he preferred to think that whatever was keeping the dragon inside the mountain, was also keeping it from killing its friends. He had to believe that.

He took up the arrow in one hand and met the dragon head on when it used his moment of distraction to close the distance between them.

“I know you’re still there, Tir,” he shouted up at it, his eyes rapidly darting back and forth, scouting for the missing bow. 

“Your little friend is powerless to stop me. She will be gone completely before long, but I hope to be able to kill you first. It will make it go so much faster,” the dragon hissed and lunged forward to snap him up in its jaws.

He spun out of the way and used the momentum to swing the arrow out and slam it into the muscle of its cheek. It was lodged only enough that when it tossed its head in pain, it was pulled free, but not before he clambered onto its head, holding onto its horns to maintain his perch. In the back of his mind, he had to marvel at the sheer size of the beast as compared to its form when Tirnalil restricted its power.

“Only a pinprick, but you will be sorry for it,” it roared and brought up a clawed foot to attempt to rip him off directly.

He ducked each swipe of a claw larger than he was tall and pierced the soft spot at the back of its head where its skull met its spine with the arrow, but still it was not enough to do anything but drive it mad. He would need the full force of a windlance to be able to do any lasting damage. From atop the dragon however, he could not hope to spot the bow. Even worse, the dragon started to thrash, rolling itself against the floors and the walls and ceilings in the hopes that it might dislodge its bothersome attacker. It was all he could do just to stay on without losing his grip on the arrow.

While Fili needed and lacked a bow to pierce through the tough scales, he could still target the softer bits. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. It pointed its head down towards the floor, and he released his grip on its horns, letting gravity take him while he maneuvered the arrow in the air as he fell.

With everything he had, he jammed it into the dragon’s eye as far as it would go. Maybe it wouldn’t kill it. But it would give them a fighting chance.

He tucked into himself on impact with the floor, rolling out of the way of the first paw to come down beside him, missing him by nary an inch. His hair waved in the breeze that resulted from it.

He risked a glance upwards while rising to his feet. It had reared up onto its haunches, alternating between moving about on two legs, clutching its face with both forepaws, and stumbling about on all four, but its attention was clearly elsewhere. He took the chance to run to the last place he remembered seeing a fallen friend.

He dropped to his knees at Kili’s side where he lay unconscious and bleeding sluggishly from a head wound. Fili dragged him back into the safety of a dark hallway before continuing his search for the others. He came upon Bifur and Bofu next, not too far apart from each other, conscious but too dizzy to stand without assistance. He rushed to help them hobble along one at a time while the dragon seemed to shrink as it backed away. By the time he returned to the scene and spotted Dwalin, back on his feet, and struggling to lift their king from beneath a toppled column, the dragon had fallen onto its side, gasping for breath. The arrow still stuck out of its eye like a gruesome flag on a battlefield.

He did not stop to think more on it before he ducked under his uncle’s opposite arm and brought Thorin back down to where he’d hidden the others.

It would be many hours before they could get everyone back together again to assess the situation properly. That it had only taken them roughly half the day to quiet it was a feat in itself, though not a cause for celebration.

Indeed, as the party recovered and returned to consciousness, none could dismiss the acute feeling of loss. 

They had taken refuge in the higher quarters within the mountain, where the passageways and stairways were too narrow and cramped for the dragon to follow after them. It had been a unanimous decision to leave it where it lay. Though they did not suspect it was mortally wounded, it was certainly exhausted by the fight. Both sides would require time to begin again, and if Fili was right, it would remain in the mountain when the time came.

He sat away from the Company, tracing his fingertips over the bent and ruined tip of the only Black Arrow he could recover from that dangerous hall. It was the absolute last one, and it was worth absolutely nothing against a dragon.

So caught up in his thoughts, he dropped the arrow with a clatter when a hand landed on his forearm.

“The mountain has been quiet. Bofur says it hasn’t moved according to his stone sense,” Thorin told him before drawing his nephew to his chest for a hug. He did not release his grip when the boy started to shake. “Will you tell me what you promised?”

Though his voice was muffled by the heavy cloak Thorin still wore, Fili did not doubt that he was being understood. “We talked in Mirkwood, several times while we were stuck there. We became friends. Uncle, she told me that she was scared she would lose herself to the dragon. She asked me to- she asked me- she asked me to  _ kill her _ .”

The squeeze of another hand at his shoulder told him that Kili had joined them. Fili could not bring himself to look his brother in the eyes, lest he see the dried streak of blood still on one side of Kili’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Fi,” Kili whispered, hugging him as soon as Thorin released his brother. “I know she had your bead. Was she your…?”

The question hung in the night air between them.

Tears clinging to Fili’s lashes, he pressed his forehead to his brother’s, eyes screwed shut, and held him tight for a second longer before pulling away and turning his back to the both of them. He exhaled forcefully and turned his eyes to the floor. “She was my One. I’m sure of it.”

There was a sharp intake of breath and then silence.

Fili nodded and faced them once more, his jaw set as he forced himself to look each of them in the face. He shook his hair back away from his face and ran a hand over his mouth and beard. “What does Bofur’s stone sense say? Is she still alive?”

“Fili,” Kili started, but Thorin cut him off with a sharp look and summoned the miner and toymaker.

“Has anything changed with the dragon,” asked their king, voice sharp.

Bofur, though he undoubtedly noticed the tear tracks and redness around Fili’s eyes, didn’t remark on it, but he did tell them with a minute smile, “I think you’ve solved our dragon problem.”

Thorin gave his thanks and returned to where the rest of the company sat around the solitary fireplace in whoever’s chambers they’d hidden themselves in. “We shall stay here for the night and investigate the dragon, or what’s left of it, in the morning. You have all done well tonight and deserve your rest. If war is coming, we must take a rest now while we still can.”

Grateful for the opportunity to rest, Fili still kept himself separate from the rest of the Company and tucked himself into the corner of the room furthest from the door. Kili approached but slept on a floor some feet away, near enough to let his brother know he was there, but not so close that Fili wouldn’t be able to grieve.

For, to dwarves, finding their One happened with less regularity than finding a run-of-the-mill dwarrowdam. They could love freely with anyone, but the bond would never be as deep or as profound as the bond between a pairing that had the blessing of Mahal. To suffer the loss of one such pair usually meant the demise of the survivor as they succumbed to the overwhelming grief and the constant pain of having lost, effectively, half of themselves.

But despite all their early morning conversations and the exchange of that single, solitary bead, they had not made any such declaration that they acknowledged whatever mystical force was between them, drawing them together. Fili would live, yes, in spite of losing his One, but he would be doomed to have had a taste of what could have been. Perhaps that was why, though his heart ached, he hadn’t suffered the acute shock of losing her. 

Some small part of him hoped against all hope that Bofur’s proclamation that the dragon hadn’t moved, that the problem had been solved, meant that she was still alive, but the dragon was dead. The logical part of him argued that, as he understood it and as Tirnalil herself understood it, as long as she lived, the dragon did too. There could never be one without the other. He struggled to reconcile his nightmares throughout the night, waking repeatedly with sweat beading on his forehead and soaking the small of his back.

Finally, abandoning hope that he might find a moment of rest, he slipped out of the room as quietly as he could, counting all heads before he shut the door to make sure he had not been caught, and began the long trek downstairs.

Subconsciously, letting his feet carry him without a thought to his destination, may not have been his brightest decision. An involuntary sob tore itself from his throat when he realized where he stood.

The hallway where they’d left the dragon, an arrow in its eye.

Except when he raised his eyes from the rubble strewn and blood speckled floor, the dragon was not to be found.

He felt like all the air had been forced from his body at the realization. He moved with a speed he’d only called upon when being chased by orcs and ran faster still to cover the great width of the hall, searching through all the dark passageways splitting off the main hall for anywhere that Tirnalil might have hidden herself to recover. Because it was Tirnalil. He knew it now, could feel it in his heart. The reason why he hadn’t felt the loss of her was because he hadn’t, in fact, lost her at all.

“Fi,” her voice was weak, but unmistakable.

No time passed at all. In the space of a heartbeat, he was at her side, pulling her onto his lap and into his chest, sobbing openly into her hair. He pressed kiss upon kiss upon kiss against her hair before loosening his grip enough for her to get a hand between them, slender fingers coming up to tug at his hair. She was so weak, he scarcely felt it and probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching her for signs of life, that he hadn’t imagined her voice. 

“Thank you,” she whispered before letting her hand fall back to her lap. She never opened her eyes to look at him, and he was too scared to ask her to. He was only too happy to enjoy the moment as it was. 

That was how Fili found them in the morning, all wrapped up in each other, the princeling shivering in his sleep since he’d given his coat to Tirnalil at some point during the night. The motionless body of the dragon, smaller than they’d ever seen it, lay beside the fallen arrow. He hastened back to the rest of the Company to report that their prince and their dragon had both survived the night.

Gently, Balin shook the poor dwarf awake and attempted to convince him to release his hold on Tirnalil, but to no avail.

It wasn’t until the arrival of the Elvenking at the gateway to Erebor that the subject could even be broached without a glare. They had expected scorn and hatred from the elf after their escape from his realm, but he did not even spare them a glance. His expression had gone from stoic to distraught in the same instant his eyes fell upon his wounded former charge, still unconscious in Fili’s grasp. When he rushed forwards, Thorin was startled momentarily by the appearance of the hobbit behind the elf, freshly washed, but still dressed in his travel-worn clothes.

Behind the elf’s back, Bilbo gestured for the dwarves to move away, and miraculously they did until only Thorin and Kili remained beside Fili, who had not yet lifted his head to greet the newest guest to the mountain.

To the three of them, the Elvenking bowed, his hair sliding from his shoulders to conceal his face, and he held that position for one breath, then another. When he rose, his face was a mask, but his hand shook as he placed it over his chest and nodded first to Thorin and then again to Fili.

“Prince Fili, Tirnalil is in dire need of aid that Erebor cannot provide. If you would allow me to take her back to my camp, you would be permitted to accompany her, but she cannot remain here,” he stressed, keeping his head bowed.

It burned him to have to bow before a prince, but he would not risk Tirnalil’s life over accidentally angering a dwarf caught up in gold-sickness. He had seen the sickness take many forms and obsession over objects, even people, had resulted in the deaths of no less than a handful of dwarves who’d been denied proper care. He would not allow such a fate to befall his ward.

Numb, Fili couldn’t respond with words, but he gave a minute nod before looking back over his shoulder to his Uncle, and Thranduil finally released his breath, straightening to his full height.

Thorin must have understood whatever passed in that look, for he and Kili helped to steady Fili as he stood. Kili supported Tirnalil on the ground while Thorin got Fili to his feet, keeping an arm around the dwarf’s shoulders even when he made to assure his uncle that he was fine.

“If you will forgive me for saying so, you are not in a condition to carry her yourself. Allow me,” Thranduil explained, keeping a wary eye on the dwarf princes and their king.

Thorin muttered something in Khuzdul that Thranduil didn’t understand, but the king’s voice was less heated and more pleading. Finally, Fili nodded and the tension seemed to melt from his body. Thorin glanced at Thranduil then pointedly looked at Tirnalil still in Kili’s arms.

“You have my thanks,” Thranduil said with another, much smaller bow as he knelt and covered Tirnalil in his outer robes, carefully tucking them underneath her with Kili’s help, before he rose and began to walk out with her cradled in his arms. “We will need all hands to unload the cart to make room for her and the prince. Someone, bring the dragon.”

The Company snapped into action and though they had no love for Thranduil or the elves, they knew to be grateful for their aid. Tired as they were, they made quick work of unloading the cart and moving everything Thranduil had brought with him back into the mountain. All save for Kili, who froze in place as he exited the mountain, looking to all the world like he’d just seen a ghost.

Kili didn’t speak, just rushed to Tauriel’s side to hold her hands, happy that she was alive and back so soon after being sent to Gundabad. There would come a time when they could explain all that had happened in the mountain since Smaug’s death, but that time was not now. Gently, he reached up a hand to guide her face away from Tirnalil. Such a dreaded way to meet again. Tears forming at the corners of his eyes, Kili let her go, saddened to be parted again so soon.

Thranduil carefully lowered Tirnalil’s motionless form into the back of the cart, tucking his robes around her while Bilbo hopped up and made himself comfortable beside Galion. Fili climbed up after him, dropping the equally lifeless body of the dragon at Tirnalil’s feet, and situated himself behind Tirnalil, pulling her against his chest. He did not speak to any of them, though Thranduil did not see a reason to try. The hobbit had divulged very little when he appeared at his tent the night before with Bard the dragonslayer, but when he had echoed Bard’s own concerns, Thranduil could no longer sit idly by.

The rumbles underfoot of a second dragon battling within the mountain had cemented his decision.

Amidst the flurry of panic in the new refugee camp within Dale, he had secured a wagon with supplies for the dwarves should they be lucky enough to survive a second dragon fight and hurried up the mountain with his sword at the ready. While he was grateful he hadn’t needed to act on his own promise, he could not force away the guilt that he’d allowed her to get this far. He never should have allowed her to leave the camp. 

“I will send word of her condition as soon as we can, but once you are settled and the gateway made safe, there is much we must discuss, King Under the Mountain,” Thranduil reminded and turned his elk towards Dale without another glance at the mountain.

Galion twitched the reins lightly and the pair of grey horses followed after their king, Tauriel at their back as their rear guard.

Though the ride was not long, to Fili, it felt like an age had passed. Tirnalil never woke. Nor did the white dragon that seemed smaller now where it lay haphazardly across the bed of the cart. Smaller and infinitely weaker. On its face, a dark streak of dried blood from the damaged eye indicated her only serious wound, for numerous smaller cuts littered her arms. He turned his face from it and moved Thranduil’s robes to cover it. Better that he not be reminded of what he’d had to do.

When they reached the Elven encampment at the base of Dale, Fili had accepted that he truly was out of his depth and ill-equipped to help Tirnalil. Though all of the elves bowed to him with respect, he could not bring himself to speak in answer to any of their questions. He was quite grateful for Tauriel beside him, quiet and steady. He could see why Kili was so enchanted by her as she set up a small cot for him in the same chamber where Tirnalil was being treated behind a series of woven reed screens.

She hesitated for a second when she had finished, but eventually patted him on the shoulder, forcing him to look up at her. “I will be in the next tent to the right if you should need anything.”

Then he was left to the silence, broken only by the snippets of Sindarin behind the screen as the healers worked on the dragon. He did his best to stay awake, not wanting her to wake up alone, in an unfamiliar place, but he was powerless against the mounting exhaustion. Someone must have noticed because without the hands at his shoulder and chest, he most certainly would have pitched face first into the floor and off the cot Tauriel had so kindly prepared for him.

Thranduil was there when Fili woke, looking less like a king and more like a concerned father, where he sat with his fingers steepled in front of his face, steely eyes fixed on the partitions. Some part of Fili thought with a pang in his heart that this had possibly been the longest he’d gone separated from his brother. He owed Kili no small amount of gratitude for his part in keeping him, and Tirnalil, alive the next time they met. Groaning, Fili threw his legs over the side of the cot, shoving his feet back into his boots. While he had luckily escaped life threatening damage, his muscles still ached from the effort of clinging to the thrashing dragon and from his violent meeting with the marbled floor of the treasury.

The Elvenking cast cold eyes his way, but did not speak for several moments while Fili tied off his laces.

“My healers have done what they could, but they could not save the eye. The dragon lost it entirely, but the damage was transferred to Tirnalil’s body as well. She will never recover her sight, but beyond that, you and your kin spared her from further injury,” Thranduil explained, a sense of pride and gratitude seeping into his voice as he finished. Perhaps he even smiled, but it was gone before Fili could confirm it.

“Why did you come to the mountain?” Fili asked instead.

“Your hobbit came down and informed me that Tirnalil had gone inside,” Thranduil began, then paused. “I made a promise long ago that I would not permit the dragon to live if she lost control. I went in case I had to keep it.”

Fili’s hands clenched into fists at his side and he had to fight the urge to throw something. If Thranduil had arrived any earlier, there was a good chance Tirnalil would not have survived the encounter. Thranduil had already killed one dragon before. He clearly had the skill to do so again. “What happened to it?”

“Though it was not mortally wounded, it is weaker now than it has ever been. Something else is at work within that beast, but not one that gives me reason to fear it any longer.”

“Indeed not, Lord Thranduil,” came the soft chuckle of an old wizard as he entered the tent, unannounced and unwanted.

Thranduil did not even consider his present company when he rolled his eyes at the intrusion. That time, Fili definitely smiled. Though he would never truly like the elf, there were some things they could agree on, chief among them being that the wizard was certifiably strange. And oftentimes, wholly unwelcome. Thranduil never stopped glaring at the old man in spite of his cheery facade.

“Fili, I have much to discuss with the Elvenking, and I imagine you would like very much to see Tirnalil. I have brought a tincture for her on the recommendation of Lord Elrond. Although it cannot restore her vision, it will help her to recover her strength. She will have a great need for it, I am sure.”

Fili accepted the curious glass vial of shimmering golden liquid. It glittered like it contained gold dust when he held it up to the light. He knew when he was being dismissed, and bowed out of the room, though neither seemed to care to watch him depart.

His lungs burned with the force of the air that left him when his eyes settled on Tirnalil’s resting form on the bed at the center of the room. A large cot had been prepared off to its side, and he had to wonder if that’s where Thranduil had slept, unwilling to oust his charge. He stepped forward and gathered her hand in his, wincing at the chill there. Gently, he shook her, smiling when her eyes blinked open. If he had not known it, he would never have guessed that she could not see out of her left eye. It appeared perfectly normal to him, perhaps the pupil a little wider compared to its partner, but he didn’t doubt the healers.

He held her hand tightly in his for another moment before he pressed the tincture into her palm. “How are you feeling? Gandalf brought you something, medicine from Lord Elrond.”

Tirnalil forced herself to sit up in the overlarge bed, appearing for the first time to notice the deficit in her vision now that her field of vision was not focused solely on Fili’s face in front of her. She frowned, then lifted a hand to her face, moving it back and forth, until her frown deepened further. Fili remained a silent presence, holding Tirnalil’s other hand to remind her that she was not alone. She appeared to shudder, but when she returned her hand back to her lap, her expression was calm, her breathing even.

“Whatever Lord Elrond has sent, I’ll take it now.”

“It won’t restore your sight,” he warned but watched her unscrew the top and drink down the contents in a single go. He couldn’t stop the twitch of his lips when she pulled the bottle away with a grimace.

“I know, but it will make me feel better and that’s worth something,” she huffed, letting him take the bottle back. She shut her eyes and just focused on her breathing, letting the fear of having been partially blinded wash over her and fade away as the tincture did its work. Her mind cleared and her hurts were eased by a considerable measure. “How are the others? Did I hurt anyone?”

Fili shook his head. Ori had only been frightened, but Fili knew he could trust Balin to make it known that it hadn’t been Tirnalil at the time. Ori would not hold it against her.

“No, none were harmed, and I think,” he trailed off, hoisting himself up on the bed beside her, surely Thranduil would forgive him, a dwarf, for getting dirt on the silk, “you had something to do with that.”

Tirnalil dropped her gaze to Fili’s hand and slid her fingers between his, resting their hands on top of the smooth silk sheets. “You had something to do with it too. I am scared that saying it aloud will break the spell, but I think I did it, Fili.”

They looked at a delicately wrapped bundle that had been placed on the bench at the foot of the bed, not shifting from their seats to get a closer look at the frail little head that peeked out of the folds. The dragon, which used to be of equal height to Tirnalil from nose to tail tip, now fit in the palm of her hand. Though Tirnalil slowly drifted back to sleep, Fili remained awake. He pulled one of her hands to his lap, threading their fingers together, and leaning his shoulder against hers. For the first time since they’d left the mountain, he could focus on his breathing, content just to have survived this long and hopeful that they might be able to find peace before long.

Sleep found them first.

In the central chamber of the tent, Thranduil met Gandalf’s grey eyes with a stony expression, and he folded one leg over the other, steadying his hands against the armrests lest he leap across the tent to show the wizard the extent of his disdain. He narrowed his eyes at the wizard before forcing out a long breath and confessing, “She did not take the dragon’s form the night before last. I had thought she’d broken the spell.”

Gandalf twisted his head to mull over the thought, his fingertips tapping out an odd rhythm where they wrapped around his staff. “A trick of the dragon, perhaps, to lure the both of you into a false sense of security? We understand very little of the nature of its bond with Tirnalil. What about last night? Did she transform?”

“No, but unlike before, I do believe that she is in full control. I can feel the life force of the dragon fading.”

Gandalf squinted at the tent flap separating them from Tirnalil and the dwarf prince before turning to the Elvenking with suspicion in his eyes and a frown tugging at his lips. “Is that all you can feel fading? When I last left Lord Elrond, his parting gifts were the tincture and a warning from the Lady Galadriel. She has seen a great deal of sorrow in the coming days.”

Thranduil stood and knocked back the remainder of his glass in a single gulp. He shook his head and stiffening his shoulders, answered the wizard in a broken voice, “They are both fading.”

“I see,” Gandalf hummed. “Then it is as I feared.”

Thranduil rose up from his seat, snatched up his goblet once more, and very nearly threw it at the wizard. Only the reminder that Tirnalil was still resting in the other chamber stayed his hand and forced him to keep his voice quiet as he returned the goblet to the table. His whole body shook with rage. “You  _ knew _ ? This was your doing, wizard. You dragged her into this quest. She was doomed from the moment you sought her out. You have traded her life for the lives of dwarves.”

The wizard’s frown deepened and he could not raise his eyes to meet Thranduil’s again. Both hands gripped his staff as he bowed his head to the Elvenking. “Yes, and I will carry the weight of it for the rest of my days. I never meant for her to come to such harm.”

“You never mean for many things to happen, and yet few seem to be spared from ruin when you have some part in their lives,” Thranduil hissed, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides.

“I am deeply sorry for what I have done. I cannot say it enough,” Gandalf mumbled, head bowed low.

It was not enough to ease the rage burning behind the Elvenking’s eyes. His hands tremble, itching to throw something, to do something, but finally, finally he forced himself to sit, hunched over his knees with his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair and cast his circlet aside. What good was he as a king anyway if he could not even protect his own ward? “Leave me and do not return until your presence has actually been requested. You have done enough damage.”

“I shall go, but not far. There is still a war ahead of you. I know you do not welcome my aid, but perhaps I can be of some assistance to the Men of the Lake.”

Thranduil’s glower did not fade until the wizard had vanished in the crowd beyond the tent’s opening. The Elvenking slumped back into his seat, exhausted. It took all of his energy not to cry. The glamour over the scarred half of his face fell, but the pain that flooded his system at its exposure paled in comparison to the pain in his chest. He had loved her as much as his own child, and now he would lose her. For good, this time.

He had known it to be foolish to be hopeful that he might be able to mend their relationship now that she’d come back into his life.

Tirnalil’s life had been on a countdown since she set out after the dwarves, and they were entering the final minutes.

Thranduil made no attempt to keep his words light when he wrote to the King Under the Mountain to summon him to Dale. They had no time for niceties. They could not afford any further delays. He would end whatever war the orcs offered himself if it meant he could buy more time for Tirnalil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed this or drop a comment. 
> 
> The next chapter is already at 17,500 words because I have no self control 🤷♀️ but it's mostly written, just needs some cleaning up, and it'll be posted next Friday.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the dragons have gone, war comes to the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I can be forgiven for being a day late in posting. I'd been doing so well with Friday updates, but you know, between my state being put under shelter in place orders, I feel like it's been a weird week to say the least.
> 
> Anyway, I hope everyone out there is staying safe and healthy and that we are all able to move past this as better people. <3
> 
> On to the chapter!

The first meeting between elves, men, and dwarves had been held at the edge of the ruins of Dale, where Thranduil had raised his sizable encampment. As proud as the dwarves could be, they could not hold council themselves within Erebor until a complete assessment had been made regarding any structural damage caused by the dragon or from the lack of maintenance over sixty years. Dale, in spite of the massive effort to build shelters with the unburnt wood salvaged from Laketown, was still more ruins than city, which meant Thranduil’s tent was their only option as a meeting place. 

The Elvenking did not miss the opportunity to flaunt his own wealth and status in front of the dwarves. Although the treasure beneath the mountain was unrivaled, much of it would have to be paid out still to all who’d helped in the mountain’s recovery and still more would be needed to begin repairs. It would not diminish their wealth completely, but it would humble them for a time. While Fili and Tirnalil rested in the back room of the Elvenking’s tent, the leaders of the three races and the wizard who meddled in their affairs met to discuss what Tauriel had found on her visit to the North.

“Azog’s spawn, Bolg, leads an army of orcs, wargs, and trolls from the north. They have hundreds of war-bred bats with them, large enough to lift a man. The orcs move slowly on foot, but they do not tire. They will be upon us in a day,” Tauriel announced when the Elvenking called her forward.

“They will have war. Whether we like it or not, scouts have come back with reports of a great orc army coming from the west, their numbers bolstered by goblins, and you must all become allies if you are to have any chance of defeating them. It is the only way,” Gandalf explained, casting a wary eye between the elf and the dwarf. Bard and Bilbo stood behind the former and the latter respectively, their primary allegiances clear, but did not interrupt the heated staring contest between the kings.

That Bard was a king himself by rights, the man himself did not like to be reminded, but Thranduil had not permitted him entry to the discussion until he relented to Thranduil’s urging that he dress more appropriately for the occasion. If he pulled at the collar of his new, higher quality tunic without holes in it, it was certainly because the tent was stuffy with so many people. Thranduil had not been as successful in convincing the man to discard his worn and burned coat that smelled as though he’d been dragged up from the bottom of the lake more than once. He had already known before the meeting began that war would come, and his people would meet it. They had no other choice.

Bilbo, despite the tension that still lingered between him and the dwarven king, had followed Gandalf into the tent when asked, uncertain what good a hobbit could do in the face of war, but he had come along this far, too far to see the dwarves he’d fought alongside fall now. If there was something he could do, somewhere he might help, then he would do it. Thorin would not even have to ask.

Thinking such thoughts, he sympathized with Tirnalil on a new level. On the wagon ride down the mountain, he’d chanced a few glances over his shoulder at the pair of them. He’d never thought he would see a dwarf so broken. Fili had been a shell of himself, wholly unlike the boisterous dwarf he’d first met in Bag End. He hadn’t had the chance to ask what happened inside the mountain that left Tirnalil in such a state, but he could guess well enough.

He glanced at the tent flap separating them from the dragon and its guardian, puffing at his pipe. She’d been sick ever since they entered Mirkwood, then nervous, almost distant, the closer they got to the mountain. Let this war be the end of it, let them finally find peace, Bilbo found himself praying to Yavanna. Please keep my friends safe.

“We should ride out to meet them, destroy their forces before they can swarm the city,” Thorin growled and pounded his fist against the table. Thranduil glared at him, but was cut off before he could reprimand the dwarf for his outburst.

“No, we are too weak without the support of Daín’s army, but he is still a ways away yet. To fracture your forces now would leave Dale too open to attack. Your only course of action is to strengthen the city's defenses as much as possible,” Gandalf countered immediately.

“What of the women and children, any who cannot fight?”

“Do not count our women out so easily, Master Dwarf. The women of Laketown work just as hard as the men, and you might find yourself at knifepoint sooner than you can tell them they cannot join the fight,” Bard spoke up, folding his arms across his chest.

“Very well,” Thorin grumbled after sharing a glance with Bilbo. “Any who cannot fight, Erebor can shelter.”

“How quickly can the gate into Erebor be sealed?” Thranduil asked. “If the ramparts are still in good condition, I will send a squadron of archers to defend the mountain. Leave your most vulnerable there.”

“Let me help,” the voice was small but unmistakable.

Thranduil’s shoulders tensed and his grip on the edge of the table turned his knuckles white. Similarly, Thorin at the opposite side of the table pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. Bilbo squawked in surprise, nearly dropping his pipe at the sight of the pair. Gandalf was Gandalf, unflappable and rather amused. He kept on smoking. Bard’s jaw dropped and he nearly crossed the room to get to her, a furious look on his face, before Thranduil caught his eye with a glare of equal fury. He’d take care of it.

They should have expected such an interruption, what with holding their meeting in the central part of the massive tent that belonged to Thranduil. Fili used his head to nudge the flap separating the sleeping quarters from the main area, both hands occupied with keeping Tirnalil upright. The dragon was noticeably absent from her side.

“You were nearly killed once this week already. I have half a mind to bind you to your bed so that you might stay there instead of attempting something foolish,” Thranduil snapped, his voice sharp and unforgiving, but his glare softened when Tirnalil shrunk back against Fili. He lowered his voice and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “But I also know that a dragon’s will is its own.”

“You can’t say that you’ll allow her to fight?” Bilbo huffed indignantly, drawing in a long puff to calm himself.

At the same time, Bard objected, “You cannot let her fight. You know what she’s pledged herself to do.”

“Whether I permit it or not, I cannot stop a dragon from doing as it wishes,” Thranduil repeated himself, dropping his hand back to his side, as he returned to the tall chair at the head of the tent.

Thorin interjected with all his kingly authority, “Tirnalil, you have already won back Erebor for dwarves who gave you precious little cause to do so. My cousin Daín will come with his army on the morrow. Erebor will not fall again. We will not squander the gift that you have given us.”

He approached her and bowed deeply at the waist causing his hair to swing forward. He smiled softly at her when he rose, then addressed Fili directly, “Escort her with the women and children back to Erebor. If she wishes to take up arms in their defense, she may act as an archer from the safety of the mountain, but the battlefield is no place for her, not as she is now. We are grateful for your services, Tirnalil, but it is high time we joined the fight ourselves.”

Tirnalil did not fight it although her eyes watered with unshed tears, and she wilted against Fili with a nod. All she wanted to do, all she had ever wanted to do, was help, and here she was. Too weak to be of any use. She had come so far, and now, at the end of days, she could only watch as those she strove to protect were forced to fight for their lives. She bit back a sob and covered her mouth with one hand, gripping Fili’s shirt tightly with the other while he gently guided her away.

“Very well, then we begin the evacuation of Dale. Tauriel, join Bard and bring Tirnalil with you,” Thranduil dismissed Tauriel from her position in the corner of the large room. “King Thorin, who can you spare to aid in bolstering the defenses of the hall?”

“Bifur and Bofur will be our best until Daín’s forces arrive,” Thorin replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “But they have some miles yet to go before they are with us. Oin as well, he has been a valuable healer to us on our journey here.”

While the kings and their advisors discussed the finer points of the evacuation amongst themselves, Tauriel followed Fili and Tirnalil back into the sleeping areas to get them ready to return to Erebor. Behind the privacy of the tent flap, Tirnalil crumpled to the floor, bringing Fili with her. Tauriel’s arms reached out in an aborted attempt to keep the girl from falling, but was too late. Fili encircled the dragon and hid her tears from her dearest friend.

Tirnalil’s body shook where it was pressed against Fili’s front. It was all her fault. If only she’d been stronger, she might never have succumbed to the dragon’s will, Fili might never have had to blind her, and she might still be able to join the final battle for Erebor. She sobbed quietly while Tauriel packed various bags full of clothes and blankets and whatever else she thought they might need. Fili never stopped stroking her hair or whispering quiet words in Khuzdul she wished she understood. They were lyrical and she found comfort in the hum in his chest. He was singing. She shut her eyes and buried herself deeper in his coat.

Tauriel’s hand was featherlight on her shoulder, and Tirnalil resisted the urge to keep her face hidden from her best friend. “Are you ready?”

When they arrived back at the gates of Erebor, it was at the head of a long caravan of refugees from Laketown and a contingent of elves guarding a supply train to further bolster the meager stock of the first cart Thranduil had brought with him the day before. It would not be enough to sustain them all through the winter, but it would have to last them until the threat was vanquished. Whatever strength Tirnalil had had at the onset of their trek had vanished, and she slumped forward on the pony before Fili pulled her back to his chest and shifted his grip on the reins. Tauriel glanced down at him from the back of her horse, but the dwarf could not bring himself to speak. He settled for shaking his head and urging his pony forwards so that they might enter the mountain sooner.

In the end, Bifur, Bofur, Gloin and Oin all stayed back rather than joining the rest of the company who would meet the battle in the plains under the shadow of the mountain. They waited to seal the gateway from within once everyone who needed the protection of the mountain had been moved inside. Tauriel, meanwhile, had another objective. She and a host of four other elves helped to carry Tirnalil to a room not far from access to the ramparts, where she could watch over the dragon and fire on any who would hope to enter the mountain.

Fili had remained at her side every step of the way, carrying in his arms the small bundle of cloth that concealed the sleeping form of the dragon, right up until the moment they reached the gateway. He clasped Tauriel’s forearm with his hand and passed her the bundle of cloth that concealed the sleeping form of the dragon, smaller now than they’d ever seen it, roughly the size of a kitten. 

“Keep her safe for me,” was all he asked before he turned back the way they’d come and departed from the mountain on his loaned pony. Each of the four dwarves who elected to remain bowed their heads at him before they lost sight of their prince.

Tirnalil was still unconscious when they placed her on the cot and got a fire going to warm the small room. Once everything had been done to make her comfortable, as much as possible given their meager supplies, Tauriel dismissed the others and sent them back down to the main levels where the refugees were being shepherded into what rooms the Company had determined were still habitable. Further down, Gloin had taken up the task of checking over the great forges that would keep the general temperature within the mountain somewhere above intolerably cold. Until a full party could perform a complete check of the pipes, he felt it better not to mess about with the hot water plumbing. Smaug’s flames had at least given them the solitary benefit of relighting the forges after so many years of sitting in the cold. Otherwise, he did not think they had the means to do it themselves. It had been said that prior to Smaug’s coming, the fires had not gone out since Erebor had first been established.

Tauriel smoothed the hair away from Tirnalil’s face and kissed the girl’s forehead, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. When they departed from the camp, Thranduil had pulled her aside and made her swear to keep the dragon safe, but he’d also said that her curse appeared to be broken. Since she entered the mountain, she had not taken the dragon’s form again, and the shadow of that foul beast seemed to grow smaller with each passing night. Tirnalil would be allowed to rest in relative comfort, in a bed, rather than in the wilds, exposed to the elements. Tauriel had to hope that, once this final battle was finished, it would all be over, that Tirnalil’s curse had finally been broken.

Still, Tauriel set a watch in the event that the situation changed, but her worries proved unfounded. The dragon did not so much as twitch during the night. Tirnalil did not wake the next morning, not even when the mish mash of armies came together in a roar of deafening sound. Daín’s forces came from the East just in time to meet the rush of orcs that swarmed in from the north, and the roars of the red-headed dwarf king could have been mistaken for the bellow of a dragon by its sheer volume as he struck down his opponents from atop his armored boar. For a time, his dwarves actually appeared to make a dent in the orcish forces, driving them back so that the splintered groups of elves and men could rejoin and mount a second, more unified attack. 

The she-elf had been instructed by the Elvenking to stay within the mountain to protect its new inhabitants from would-be attackers, she and the ten others who’d been sent with her. They had an overwhelming amount of arrows at their disposal, but very little of the forces on the battlefield below seemed to be drawn to the mountain. Providing what aid she could at such a great distance, she fired arrows into the fray. Only her keen Elvish eyesight meant none of their allies were caught in the volley.

The odds were not good. Even with the full force of the Elves and dwarves actually working together, the untrained men and women of Laketown were struggling under the ceaseless flow of orcs, even those not astride wargs. Her heart ached to see their forces divided further when part of the orc army peeled off to flood the city of Dale, and the humans rushed to its defense at once. As much as she wished to stand alongside her kin, she could not disobey her king again, nor could she abandon the sleeping dragon in the chamber not far behind her.

Suddenly, a gasp drew her attention behind her, and she reluctantly turned away from the battlefield. Tirnalil had somehow managed to drag herself away from her cot, still dressed in the long, lightweight dressing gown given to the wounded, and wholly unprepared for the biting chill on the ramparts. Her face pale but cheeks flushed from the effort, she leaned heavily against the doorway.

“Tirnalil, what are you doing up? You should still be resting, you are in no condition to fight,” she exclaimed, immediately dropping her bow to the stone. She rushed over to Tirnalil, but the little thing would have none of it. She struggled to wriggle herself free, but Tauriel held fast. “Tirnalil, stop! Stop this at once!”

“Tauriel, it’s a trap, that peak there, it’s a trap, only they cannot see it,” Tirnalil shouted, beating her fists against Tauriel’s shining golden breastplate, then pointing to where a great waterfall poured over from the top of the mountain, its surface frozen over as they entered the coldest part of the year, jagged edges sparkling as it caught the golden sunlight. Beside it stood an immense watchtower that even in its ruined state, sent a chill down her spine.

Azog had commanded his forces on the battlefield from that peak, using a system of flags fashioned from cloth or leather, Tauriel did not know, but now the flags were eerily still. Below it four large war goats bounded up the rock face, bearing the only four dwarves Tauriel knew to have a personal stake in defeating Azog. Only Thorin and his nephews and their ever present guard, Dwalin, would be foolish enough to go after the Pale Orc with such a small party.

If Tirnalil was right, she would have to disobey her king one final time, but she could not stand idly by while Kili marched to his death. She would not do it. And she knew Tirnalil would never forgive herself for allowing any harm to come to Fili while she still breathed. Tauriel squeezed her tightly once more before holding the dragon out at arm’s length.

“How are we going to reach them in time?”

Tearfully, Tirnalil asked in that broken voice of hers ever since Fili saved her life, “Do you trust me?”

Tauriel quickly strapped multiple quivers to her back and checked the straps securing her knives. Then she nodded. “With my life.”

“Hold on and do not let go,” was all Tauriel got in warning before Tirnalil moved with surprising speed, grabbing Tauriel’s arm as she ran towards the low wall of the ramparts, pushing past the startled elvish archers.

Then they were falling.

Over the rush of wind in their ears, Tirnalil shouted, “Put your arms around my neck.”

No sooner than Tauriel locked her hands over her wrists, Tirnalil transformed into the white dragon. In the full light of day. Large hooked claws slammed into the mountainside, and it took every ounce of Tauriel’s strength not to lose her grip as it dragged itself to a stop, leaving deep gouges in the rock. Its chest heaved with the effort, but as soon as it caught its breath again, it raced across the mountainside with an agility Tauriel had never expected from a creature so large. Despite the occasional stumble as it misstepped, it maintained a strong pace. 

“Do you still see them?” Tauriel yelled above the wind.

Tirnalil’s voice answered, “No, they have gone over the ridge already.”

Fearing the worst, Tirnalil forced herself to climb even faster, but she was waning already. Every breath felt like it would be her last, and maybe it would be, but she had to try. She threw herself forwards more than she ran. The ride could not have been comfortable for Tauriel, but so long as she did not lose her grip, Tirnalil could not afford to slow down.

“Hold on!” Tirnalil warned moments before she collected herself and launched herself upwards, slamming her claws like massive ice hooks into the rocky ledge. She hung there for a moment so Tauriel could dismount then pulled herself the rest of the way up, resting in a lazy sprawl for a short minute before she rose on shaky legs.

“Protect my left,” Tirnalil said as quietly as she could in her dragon form. She could not hide the sorrow in admitting that she missed her vision, but for what it was worth, she’d adjusted quickly to it, at least in this form. She’d gotten them this far up the slopes of Erebor without falling. She would survive the loss eventually.

Together they began to move forward, searching for the dwarves they’d silently sworn to protect. Everything was too calm. The biting wind urged them onwards, tossing Tauriel’s hair and tugging on Tirnalil’s wing as it caught the breeze, even folded tightly against her body. When the passageways of the old watchtower became too narrow, Tirnalil crawled right over them. They had not found a single sign of the dwarves.

Then their luck changed, and Tirnalil would be hard pressed to say it was for the better.

It was the laughter of Bolg, the spawn of Azog, that drew them to a ledge beneath the edge of the waterfall. They peered over the edge and found Kili, separated from the others and struggling to hold his own against the massive Gundabad orc. Tirnalil winced when the orc got in a lucky strike that brought the prince down to one knee and just barely rolled out of the way of a blow that had been meant for his neck.

“Find Fili,” Tauriel whispered, stroked Tirnalil’s muzzle, and leapt onto the orc’s back with a fierce war cry, driving a dagger into the meaty flesh of his neck.

There was no mistaking the relief in Kili’s face, and he surged forward with renewed energy, emboldened by having a partner in his fight. Tirnalil hoped it would be enough, and pressed onwards without them. Surely a dragon would be enough defense by itself.

She and Azog had apparently found Fili sneaking through the remains of the fallen fortress at the same time, but Azog had already started his charge. It was now a race to see who would get to him first.

Approximately half a dozen things happened at once.

All rational thought went off the cliffside. Her legs carried her forwards unbidden as only one thought repeated itself like a mantra at the front of her mind, blocking everything else out.  _ Save him, save him, save him. _

But the race was lost before it ever started. From their hiding places in the debris and all the nooks and crannies, orcs sprouted from the shadow and threw chains across her back more rapidly than her eye could follow. She reared up against the chains before they could be drawn tight, and the rapid whiplike movement of her tail released a handful of them as the orcs holding them were cut down. It wasn’t enough. Before long, she was forcibly slammed into the ground, and she struggled to shift her head to keep her good eye on Fili, shocked to see the dragon in the light. He had been forced to his knees by the orcs holding either of his arms, a jagged blade pressed to his neck, and a gnarled hand twisted in his hair to keep him from looking away.

She opened her jaws to tell him to run, but it quickly turned into a scream when the first blade pierced her near her left shoulder. A weight settled on the meat of her neck, but the chains over her head kept her from being able to see who it was. She twisted her neck to try to buck them off, but the sound of his voice stopped her cold.

“First we kill the dragon. Then the runt prince.” It was Azog.

Tirnalil thrashed wildly against the binds, forgetting all about the sword that had already been forced into the soft, unprotected space under her foreleg. She did not see it, but something fell with a crushing weight on her tail and severed the blades. Another scream tore itself from her body, and she continued to fight against the chain with a growing desperation, claws scrabbling against the stone. More commands in Black Speech meant an ever increasing number of blades pierced her hide, and she could not keep herself from screaming with each new addition.

She still kept her eye on Fili, tears streaking down his face and blood dripping from the wound on his neck he’d earned from fighting against his captors. She was spent. As much as it would kill her to admit it, she was too tired to struggle against the chains. She shut her eyes and let her body go limp. Vaguely aware of the sounds of chains falling slack around her, she didn’t open her eyes until they were forced open by the sudden pain of a sword being plunged into her left side.

A dozen more things happened at once, and Tirnalil saw exactly none of them.

Then she fell. She groaned when the impact against the cold ground jarred the blade, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She had failed him. She’d failed them all.

Everything melted into nothingness, and she lost herself to the dark.

The first thing her ears registered was a whisper. A voice like music calling her name.

_ “Tirnalil. Tirnalil, lover of starlight and stalwart defender of the line of Durin,”  _ came a soft feminine voice that rang like the sweetest music, or the gentlest notes of birdsong in the early morning. She felt light and strangely hopeful at the sound.

She struggled to open her eyes, but she didn’t recognize the faces of the figures in front of her, both surrounded by halos of golden light. The first, a woman with a wreath of leaves and berries and flowers about her head and beside her a man, tall and broad and bearded, clad in shining armor. She was so tired, and the light felt so warm and inviting. She shut her eyes and let her body find comfort in it.

_ “You have earned your rest. We would welcome you with open arms, but something tethers your spirit even now,”  _ said the man, his voice deep and warm with the same healing quality she felt when she lived with Lord Elrond.

_ “You need only choose, and it will be done. The curse of Morgoth is broken, and that bears its own rewards,”  _ the woman spoke and held out both hands palm up, beckoning Tirnalil to rise from where she still lay on the floor in that bleak black void.

Dream-Tirnalil, for what else could this be but a fever dream before death, rose from the ground, her hurts gone, and joined hands with the womanly figure. A warm rush of hope flooded her senses, but did not dispel her hesitation completely.  _ “Who are you?” _

_ “I am known by many names, chief among them is Yavanna, and beside me is my husband Aulë, who you know by the name of Mahal, the Maker, for you travel with dwarves. Now, sweet one, you must answer. Will you live a mortal life with the dwarf your heart desires, even knowing that it would not be long before you returned to this place? We cannot heal every hurt that has been done to you, for there are many, but a few weeks, months perhaps, more time, yes, that we can give.” _

She frowned. How unfair it all was. She could not even have a year?

The man, Aulë, or Mahal, now came closer and placed a hand on Tirnalil’s shoulder, looking much like a concerned father might.  _ “Or will you choose the everlasting life of the dragon? You would see him to the end of his natural life, but you would linger on.” _

“No, no, no, no, no, no, you can’t make me choose,” Tirnalil coughed and more blood bubbled from her mouth, spilling down her cheek and running down her neck. She screamed and beat her fists against the cold earth beneath her as she glowered at the sky. “ _ You cannot ask this of me _ .”

_ “And yet you must. Such is the way things are, and you are fading quickly,”  _ Yavanna reminded her with a gentle hand on her cheek, tilting her face upwards so that she could wipe away her tears.

_ “What will happen to me?”  _ Tirnalil gasped between whimpers of pain. Even in the dream, the golden light was beginning to fade and as it left, her hurts made themselves known once again.

Mahal took one hand in his, dwarfing her almost comically, but at least for the moment, the contact pushed back the burning pain in her side.  _ “You will live a mortal life and die a mortal death, and he will watch you fade from this world. You have already been granted more years than this body was ever meant to withstand and even now you are mortally wounded. You must make your choice. You are running out of time.” _

_ “How much time will I have with him?” _

_ “Enough,”  _ Aulë answered cryptically.

“ _ Enough to find peace _ ,” Yavanna finished for her husband. “ _ We can promise nothing more. _ ”

“I will choose a mortal life,” she gasped and struggled to stay awake long enough to get the words out.

_ “A dragon’s will is its own. It is done,”  _ Yavanna whispered in her ear, and the soft golden light faded.

She could have screamed if she’d had any energy left to do so.

The next time her eyes opened it was to the feeling of water droplets striking her face, only to discover that they weren’t water droplets at all, but tears. Blonde hair tickled her cheeks and something warm had been wrapped around her, and she struggled to lift a hand to the face above hers. She hadn’t even realized she had returned back to her normal daylight form. Whoever held her saw the aborted movement of her arm, and brought her hand up to where she wanted it. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion, and she felt around that face until her fingertips touched beads, beads braided into a mustache.

“Fi?” was all she managed to croak.

“Tir, Tir, Tir! Stay with me. Please,” he begged, and his voice was so broken she started crying too. “Why did you do it, Tir? Why did you come?”

“Didn’t I say it before?” she tried to laugh and regretted it immediately when it caused her to gag on another rush of blood pooling in the back of her mouth. “If by my life or my death, you would reclaim Erebor? Looks like it will be by my death.”

Fili squeezed her hand before lowering it back to her chest so he could hold her tightly, pressing her face into the crook of his neck, uncaring of the blood staining his front. He sobbed openly into her hair and whispered, “There is no jewel in the mountain that is worth this. Please, Tir, please don’t leave me. We’ve come too far.”

She tried to speak, but her words were lost in a coughing fit that left her gasping for air. He lowered her to the ground and lay down beside her, propped up on one elbow so he could rest his forehead against hers. Neither one could find it in them to stop crying. The two shadows that stood behind him moved away.

_ “Hold on. We are coming.” _

“Galadriel,” Tirnalil whispered to no one, but Fili caught it and met her gaze with worry. His heart broke at the dullness of her eyes and the pallor on her cheeks. He squeezed her hand tight and prayed to Mahal, Yavanna, to whoever might be listening that he might not have to lose her.

_ “We are coming.” _

A great rush of wind sent new waves of pain across the many cuts that covered her body, and she failed to hold back the scream even when Fili curled his body around her in an attempt to lessen the impact. The eagle looked repentant for a moment before it ducked its head, its intent clear. Fili would ride, and it would carry Tirnalil in its talons. As soon as he was on its back and the dragon in its talons, it took to the air, careful not to lose the coat Fili had wrapped around her, and delivered them both to the edge of the Elven encampment that sprouted at the base of the ruins of Dale, where the elves were already waiting to receive them. Gentle and precise, the eagle unfurled its talons, and the elves eased her onto a stretcher beneath the bird. It hopped backwards with short wing flaps until it stood some feet away. Only after the elves lifted the stretcher and hurried into the thick of the camp did it take off to join the hunt for any surviving wargs. Fili followed the healers, blind to his own injuries.

Thranduil held out a hand to stay the dwarf and prevent him from entering the king’s tent after the elvish healers carried Tirnalil inside. He relied on his greater strength to keep the dwarf back when Tirnalil released another scream from out of his sight.

Fili didn’t even recognize the hand on his chest until the elf spoke, “You cannot help her now, dwarf.”

“She’s  _ dying _ !” Fili shouted, whirling on the elf in a rage, spinning out of the elf’s reach.

“She  _ will  _ die if you do not leave her to the only healers who can stabilize her. She  _ will  _ die if you do not let them do their work. She  _ will  _ die if you interfere. Aid is coming for her. You must trust in that or you will doom her,” Thranduil explained in a voice sharp as steel, and perhaps Fili might have been cowed by it if he did not notice the minute tremors that periodically forced the Elvenking’s entire body to shake. He was brutally reminded that Thranduil had been the first elf to ever attempt to heal Tirnalil, and it was thanks to him that she never flew again. He, more than anyone else, knew what was at stake, how difficult it truly was to save the life of a dragon.

Fili stopped fighting against the hand against his chest and dropped to his knees in front of the tent. “How do you do it? How can you stand here knowing that she’s dying in there?” he asked, fighting a new wave of tears instead.

“Do not mistake my calm for ease, princeling,” the Elvenking hissed, but restrained himself from lashing out more when he saw the emptiness in the dwarf’s eyes. “Find your kin and stay with them. To my knowledge none were gravely injured so unless they decided to make for Erebor again, they should be at the northern end of the encampments. Or perhaps I should send someone to accompany you?”

Fili did not rise from his knees until Tauriel and Kili both pulled him to his feet. He hadn’t even realized that Thranduil left him to summon the archers. He didn’t even have the capacity to remark on the fact that Thranduil did not even blink at the relationship between the pair. Numb to everything, he allowed them to lead him to a tent that when opened, gave him pause. Dwalin held open the tent flap for him to come inside, and his Uncle seated him on the far side of the tent where he was away from the noise and bustle at the table. All of the members of the company had been injured in some way, some more severely than others, and as such, they’d been provided a tent to recuperate until the elves cleared them to begin work on the restoration of Erebor. Thankfully, however, none were so severely injured that it impaired their ability to toast in celebration of their monumental victory.

Bilbo, unfortunately, was not among them.

Fili wrapped himself in a blanket he found in the corner and rolled away from the questioning eyes of his travel companions. There he remained through the long night.

The next morning found him still in bed, staring at the wall of the tent, unmoving and unmoved by anyone else in the tent, no matter what happened behind him. It wasn’t until Kili and Tauriel ganged up on him again that he even blinked to focus on them after Kili forced him to roll over and face him.

Tauriel’s lips twitched with a smile that wasn’t quite there, but Kili was positively beaming. The elf said in a quiet voice, “She’s asking for you.”

And it took them both to keep Fili from vaulting from the bed and rushing outside although Thorin and Dwalin overturned their chairs at the long table at the center of the tent in their haste to assist.

Kili laughed, “She also said not to let you see her without taking care of yourself first. Wash and eat. Then you can go.”

Never had a dwarf bathed so quickly nor eaten as Fili did that morning. He did not question that he’d been supplied clothes more fit for Elven children than for grown dwarves. He was still sliding on his coat when he started towards the opening of the tent. 

“Lead the way,” he grumbled, pulling his hair out from under the heavy fabric and letting it fall over his shoulders, still damp and dripping.

Kili walked beside him while Tauriel went in front. In the last moments of the battle for Erebor, the brothers had been separated, and thus far had not had a moment to themselves to catch up, Fili too traumatized by finding Tirnalil so close to death that he could not process that his own brother was alive, bruised but alive. Now, with the assurance that the dragon had lived, he hugged his brother fiercely and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Uncle gives you his blessing, you know,” Kili pointed out, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “Gave his blessing for me and Tauriel, too. We owe them half the mountain each for everything they’ve done for us.”

Fili scoffed. “No, I think we owe Tir more than half the mountain, a great deal more.”

Kili wiggled his eyebrows at his brother and danced out of his reach, walking backwards briskly to catch up to Tauriel as he shouted with laughter in his voice, “Do you think she would settle for half your heart?”

Fili could not even reply to that, the blush that colored his cheeks had the unintentional side effect of unleashing a violent swarm of butterflies in his stomach. Durin’s Beard, he had known he held no small amount of affection for her, but he was completely besotted and his brother knew it. Tauriel’s knowing look over her shoulder meant one of two things, or both, if he was really lucky. One, that she knew it too. And two, that Tirnalil felt the same.

However, he did consider himself the unluckiest besotted fool when Kili and Tauriel graciously opened the tent flaps for him, only for him to be met with entirely too many elves and the most meddlesome wizard of all. He could not suppress his groan.

Gandalf could hardly contain his grin and patted Fili on the shoulder. “My dear boy, there is no need to look so appalled. She lives, and she will heal given enough time. She may be weak for quite some time, but the curse of Morgoth has been broken and she is wholly herself in mind if not yet in body.”

Lady Galadriel tipped her head to him and he felt a rush like cool water come over him, calming the blush, and filling him with a sense of calm. Lord Elrond, he regarded carefully, but the dark-haired elf bowed his head and stepped back so that Thranduil could step forward.

The frigid Elvenking Lord Thranduil remained where he stood behind his table covered in maps, his eyes burning with a cold fire. Fili’s boots felt heavy like lead, rooted to the ground. He could not move beneath that fierce gaze. The lord of the Woodland Realm did not speak, nor did he have to. He made a grand show of whipping back his long sleeves, clasping his hands behind his back, and storming out of the tent. Fili was honestly surprised he hadn’t rammed his shoulder too as he passed. 

With that the Elves and the wizard departed from the tent in an almost otherworldly procession, for the elves moved with perpetual grace. Gandalf, the last to leave, patted Fili on the shoulder as he went and revealed to the dwarf, “Lord Thranduil blames you for her near death, but you must not believe it yourself. She made her choice many moons ago. There is nothing you or he could have done to prevent what has happened. Go to her.”

Only Kili and Tauriel remained in the front chamber, where they then seated themselves on the floor. Tauriel snagged a bottle of wine from a side table and poured two glasses, one for her, one for Kili.

“I have been instructed to remain in case you require anything, but we will not eavesdrop,” Tauriel promise, taking her first sip with a straight face.

“But we cannot promise that we will not get roaringly drunk on Elvish wine,” Kili cheered and knocked back his glass. 

Fili smiled, shook his head, and ducked under the next flap to the private area where Tirnalil had been treated. A hand rose unbidden to his mouth to stifle whatever noise it was that tried to escape at the sight of her in the bed. The last time he’d seen her, all he’d seen was the blood leaking from her mouth and from her side. The broken blade had been removed, and a light robe of a deep blue hue had been draped over her shoulders, leaving her chest exposed except for the large bandages that peeked through the collars. Her eyes were closed when he approached her on the right side of the bed, but their eyes met when he covered her hand with both of his.

“Hey, you,” he whispered and pressed his lips to her fingertips to get her to smile.

She did, and he lost his battle against yet another wave of tears. She squeezed his hand and used their hands to bop him on the nose. “No, no crying, I’m not dead,” she whined even though she proved to be helpless against her own tears.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

He released one hand from around hers and used it to brace himself above her head, lowering his forehead to hers and just looking into her eyes, grateful she was even alive. Then, he did something he wished he’d done ages ago.

Their lips met for barely a second, a gentle press, and he pulled away again.

Tirnalil gaped at him with rosy cheeks. 

“When you are released from this bed, I would really like to begin courting you officially, if you would have me,” he professed, his eyes soft as he smiled at her.

“You are a fool if you think I would have it any other way,” she laughed and nodded, pressing their foreheads together for as long as she could until exhaustion dragged her back to the pillows. “How are you still alive? You were captured too, weren’t you?”

“Legolas found Kili and Tauriel, and together they killed Bolg and came looking for us. They found Thorin and Dwalin first. If they had not all come together when they had, I do not think either of us would have survived the battle. I didn’t see it all, I was too focused on you, but it took every one of them to destroy Azog once and for all. If not for the eagles, we might’ve lost you.”

“Well, you didn’t. I’m still here.”

“Yes, and I will thank Mahal to the end of my days that you lived,” he promised, sinking into the chair that had been left at her bedside. He then scanned the room curiously, frowning when he did not find it. “What happened to the dragon? It was not recovered when we sent a party back to Ravenhill.”

“It’s gone, Fili. It’s just me now,” she chuckled quietly.

“Gone?”

“Yes, from now on, I will only ever be human. If you would have me, from now on, I will only ever be yours.”

Now it was Fili’s turn to flush bright red and duck his head into the covers to save face. He groaned into the soft silk, “Please go easy on my poor heart,  _ ‘Ibinê _ . When you are well enough, I do not think you will have a shortage of visitors.”

“Until then, will you stay with me?”

“You do not even have to ask,” Fili answered. Then he separated their hands, moving around to the opposite side of the bed, and slid under the blankets beside her.

Surprisingly, Fili was the first to drift off to sleep, no doubt exhausted waiting for news on her condition, and Tirnalil carefully pulled herself away from his arms, scooting herself backwards until her back rested against the headboard. She winced as the movement pulled at the threads keeping her side together and lifted the edge of her robe away to peek at the bandages. No blood at least. Thranduil would kill her himself if she tore her stitches now, after everything the elves had done to keep her alive. She appreciated the effort, she really did, but when she first awoke to find the elven lords bracketing Lady Galadriel, she had burst into tears nearly immediately.

Lady Galadriel had cupped her face in both hands and whispered something in Quenya, something that sounded like a prayer, and it filled her with a sense of calmness that helped to quiet the tears. Tirnalil appreciated that too, but she could not keep the truth from them.

She told them of her experience with Aulë and Yavanna, but none of them seemed surprised.

“You knew?” Tirnalil whimpered in confusion.

“I see many things,  _ tithen pen _ , but it is difficult to determine which way the leaves will fall. I saw you pass from this world, but I must confess that I did not foresee that Aulë would bring you back.” She had leaned down to press a kiss to Tirnalil’s forehead, wiping away the tears from her cheeks, and Tirnalil struggled to keep from shedding more. “You are so loved, Tirnalil. Know this and find your peace in this world.”

Thranduil had not taken the news nearly as well. Despite the gift of Sight, he had not foreseen the dragon’s trick that left her half-blind. Nor had he seen her defeat on the mountaintop. All he had seen had been the dwarves. That Gandalf and Galadriel had both known for some time now that there had never been an end to the dwarves’ journey in which Tirnalil survived unscathed, it boiled his blood. His hands shook at his sides where he balled them into fists. He had jerked out of her reach when Tirnalil looked towards him, her hand twitching atop the bedspread.

“Whatever you are thinking, it was not their fault. I made my choice, and I would not change it for the world,” she’d said, but it did nothing to cure his foul mood. He swept out of the bedchamber in a swirl of silver and copper silks.

Lord Elrond had stepped out of the way in time to avoid a collision, and when he replanted his feet, he offered Tirnalil a weak smile. “We will speak to him before we leave. For now, focus on your healing. I hope that you will be well enough to visit again before Aulë calls you back, but I would understand if you would prefer to spend your time here.”

When they had left the tent and allowed Fili to replace them, Tirnalil had struggled to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t let Fili know, not after he’d dwarf-proposed to her. She did not understand all of their culture’s customs, but it had sounded enough like a promise to her that she could not deny her own feelings for him in return. She’d meant it then, and she knew she could not go back on her word. But nor could she ignore the tickle in the back of her mind that reminded her that omitting the truth was nearly as bad as lying itself.

She tucked Fili’s hair behind his ear, trailing her fingertips over the bead that was a match to the one still at her wrist. She held up her wrist to look at them together and wondered how much better it might look to be braided in her hair. Now that the dragon was gone, she could do it too. She heaved a sigh and winced when it tugged at her stitches again. At least the curse had been broken. At least Aulë had decided she deserved to come back. Some time with Fili had to be better than none at all. It would be enough.

A solitary tear dripped down her cheek and she sucked in a shaky breath.

Now she simply had to believe it.

* * *

The three leaders of the elves finally reached the edge of the camp where two eagles already stood waiting to bear them back to their own lands. Thranduil clasped both hands behind his back and bowed his head to the Lord and the Lady before they mounted their respective eagles.

“Cleanse the Woodland Realm of the darkness that plagues it, Lord Thranduil, and she may yet return to you with happiness before Aulë calls her back,” Galadriel reminded the Elvenking before the eagle carried her away.

Lord Elrond regarded him for a long moment with a cool stare, his calm expression never changing, until finally one corner of his lips twitched upwards in an aborted attempt at a smile, the grief too strong just yet. “I loved her as a daughter of my own just as I know you have, Lord Thranduil. Do not let your grief consume you now. She has not yet passed. We all share in the blessing of the time she has been given, though we know not how long it will last. Do not let it go to waste.”

Then the second eagle launched and Thranduil could only watch until the black dots disappeared from the sky beyond even his elvish vision. He turned back towards the camp, moving through the tent city with slow, purposeless strides.

They had told the dwarf that Tirnalil would heal given time, but even then, they’d all known the truth. Galadriel had Seen it as clearly as he’d felt it. When Tirnalil first came to him, the bond between her soul and the dragon’s had been poorly understood, but now, they knew one thing for certain. The long life inherent to dragons had been the only thing keeping her human body alive. Without it, she should have died atop Ravenhill. Only the interference of Aulë and Yavanna saved her. But even their gift came with an expiration date.

Someday Tirnalil would die. It was a fact of life. Distant to the elves, yes, blessed with immortality as they were, but they witnessed it in the men and dwarves who dwelled in Middle Earth beside them. Tirnalil had only been granted more time. The actual healing of her wounds had still fallen to the combined efforts of Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. Without them, she would have died even with Aulë’s blessing. None could see when it would happen, whether it would come in the next month or the next year, or if they were truly blessed, the next decade, and even after Tirnalil had first woken up, none had the heart to ask if she knew herself.

Better to enjoy the time they had than to worry about when she would leave them.

Thranduil found himself before the tent he’d given Bard and his children. He hadn’t meant to find the new king of Dale, but his feet had taken him there unbidden.

Thoughts still jumbled, he did not see the figure behind him before he turned and took a step, right into the man himself. A hand caught his shoulder to steady him without hesitation and stayed there even after Thranduil found his balance again.

Dark eyes bored into his, the worry plain. “Are you doing well, Lord Thranduil? Perhaps you should come inside and sit for a moment.” 

The Elvenking could not deny the offer. He did not know how much time he would have with Tirnalil in the future, but he was certain there was enough that he could spend a few more hours away from her to let his heart settle.

All of Bard’s children regarded Thranduil with undisguised shock, frozen in place mid-stride on their way to hug their father after a long day of visiting the other refugees. Tilda, precious, innocent, little Tilda was the first to break. In tears, she rushed forwards and threw her small arms around his knees, rubbing her face against his robes. He froze and slowly looked over his shoulder at Bard, who just flashed him a sad smile and squeezed past him to gather up his older children into a hug.

Slowly, Tilda’s grasp loosened around the elf’s legs and she tilted her face upwards at him, eyes comically puffy and red-rimmed, and asked, “Where’s Tir? Da said she got hurt.”

Thranduil’s heart broke again and he sank to the floor in front of the small child, awkwardly stretching out his arms to invite her closer. While she hugged him, he stroked her hair, forcing himself to slow his breathing lest he add his cries to hers. “Hush, little one, Tirnalil would not want you to cry. She is resting now, and she will heal, but she was hurt very badly. It will take her some time before she can play with you again.”

“Can I go see her? Maybe I can read her a story. Da always read me stories when I was sick, and I always got better real fast,” Tilda gushed, and Thranduil’s eyes filled with tears at the hope he found in hers.

“I’m sure she would like nothing more,” he said quietly, forcing back the tears. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

Finally, Bard came to the rescue before Thranduil could completely fall apart. He placed a gentle hand on Tilda’s head. “Come on, Tilda. Why don’t you go with Sigrid down to Ethel today? She still needs help mending clothes for winter. Bain, you go along too. Ethel’s husband might have need of you.”

Once all the children had gone, Bard stuck out a hand to help the elf to his feet. When Thranduil did not immediately take it, Bard instead dropped to the floor himself, leaning his weight back against his hand with his legs out in front of him.

“Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?” he ventured cautiously.

“How do you mortals deal with death? To know it will come and yet live life and be happy?”

“We do not have the endless time of the elves to waste, so we enjoy each moment as if it will be our last. It is the not knowing that makes it useless to fear death.”

“And if you knew when it would happen?”

“We do not have that knowledge unless it is a slow death, like with the elderly or in the cold winter when the sickness comes. In those cases, we do what we can to ease their passing and to keep them comfortable until their time comes.” Bard paused, shifting his weight forward, and pulled one leg to his chest to rest his head against. “Tirnalil is dying, isn’t she?”

Thranduil could not find his voice to confirm the man’s suspicions.

Bard shut his eyes and sighed, long and tired. He seemed to age a year over the next minute. “There were other elves, other lords. Did they do nothing?”

Finally, Thranduil forced himself to speak. “There was nothing more to be done. It is only by the blessing of Aulë that she lives at all, but she does so on borrowed time. Aulë will call her back, and I cannot say that I will be ready for it.”

The man hummed, his eyes never leaving Thranduil. “If there is nothing to be done, then there is nothing to be done except to enjoy what time she still has. Who else knows?”

“A handful, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, myself, Mithrandir, now you. Whether she tells the dwarf prince will be her decision.”

“But she knows?”

Thranduil nodded.

“If she chooses to keep her condition secret from the others, then there is nothing for us to do except treat her as we normally would. Let her live out her life however she wishes. I can understand her decision, you know. The sick are looked upon with pity, and though it is well-meaning, it is exhausting to be reminded so constantly of your own mortality. I will not speak of it again. You do not need the reminder any more than she does.”

“Thank you, Bard,” Thranduil mumbled before he rose to his feet, shaking dust from the folds of his robes. “I should go back to check on her.”

“The threat is gone, Lord Thranduil. We have all been nearly run to the ground these past few days. Come with me. Surely two kings deserve a break for just one day.”

Bard hastily stood and, grabbing a bag from the floor by the tent entrance, pulled the Elvenking along behind him by his elbow. He hauled both of them to the lakeshore before Thranduil found the words to chastise the man for manhandling him. Bard only laughed at the unkind words and continued to undo the knots holding a small boat to the dock. When he tossed in his pack, he seemed to pause again, breathing in the cool air by the water’s edge and basking in the sunlight.

Without looking to Thranduil, Bard spoke, “I have always found comfort in the vastness of the lake. When you’re at its center, you are surrounded only by the sky above and the water below. You can forget about the worries that wait for you back at shore, at least for a time. Sometimes that’s all we need.”

The Elvenking would never admit it in public, but the man was right.

* * *

While the two kings spent their daylight hours alone on the lake, within the mountain, the dwarves toiled well into the night. At the earliest opportunity, Thorin had taken his company out of the camp and back into the mountain. Only Fili had been permitted to stay behind with Tirnalil. Dain’s dwarves took over much of the restoration work as far as making the mountain functional again, and after their arduous journey, those of Thorin’s Company were grateful for the respite. Instead, they handled the more mundane tasks of clearing out rooms and setting aside living quarters for their kin to await their return from the Blue Mountains during the day and crafting in the early hours of the night when sleep was harder to find.

Bombur being the only exception. He had taken up a position as chief chef and supervisor of all things regarding rebuilding their food stores, and he’d suckered in Ori to take inventory. All, save for Thorin and Bilbo, who’d wandered off to the royal wing some time ago, now sat around working on their own small pieces.

Bofur whittled away at a block of wood, shaping it into something that looked vaguely like a dragon though it was lacking a wing. Bifur sat hunched over something, obscuring it from view completely, and muttered something too quick to catch whenever another dwarf tried to get a peek at it, but the words always sounded angry.

They hadn’t been in the mountain long enough for Dwalin to forge new weapons, but he had found an old warhammer that desperately needed cleaning. He treated the weapon as delicately as one might handle a babe, polishing every inch of its surface with the utmost care. Beside him, Balin worked on setting what seemed like hundreds of crystals into a wide leather strap.

Nori worked similarly to Dwalin, having unearthed a treasure trove of forgotten knives and daggers, he set about restoring them and returning to them their deadly sharp edges. Dori sat far from him, meticulously sorting out the highest quality emeralds from a pile he’d brought up with him from the dragon’s horde and organizing them by size until he had, roughly, an outline of an ornate necklace.

Gloin sketched in one corner of the room a rough draft of a battleaxe he hoped to make in the future. The page he worked on was also spotted with sketches of his wife and his son, and occasionally he traced his fingers over their faces before refocusing on his idea for a new weapon. It had been so long since he’d last seen Gimli.

Oin struggled to find things to work on, and typically found himself wandering back to the halls they’d set aside for the recovering wounded. With all the aid of the elves, he’d had very little to do during the night when his patients slept off their aches. Still, he felt better to be amongst them. Once they’d all gone on, whether to the Iron Hills or remained in the mountain, perhaps then his mind would be more settled and he could craft again.

Kili worked the most diligently in his notebook, drawing up designs for a bead. When Thorin had first seen it, he’d grumbled, but Kili reminded him swiftly of Tauriel’s contribution to their success, namely saving his life against Bolg. Thorin dropped the issue after that. Yet for every idea he thought up, he vigorously scratched out the last. Without Fili by his side to make suggestions, everything he designed simply felt lacking.

Groaning for the umpteenth time, he tore out the page and tossed it into the fireplace.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, eh, laddie?” Bofur asked, setting down his whittling knife.

“I wish my brother was here with us. He has been down in Dale since the battle.”

“Aye, but that’s only because Tirnalil is still down there. Balin got word, didn’t you, Balin, that she was awake at least, but it will be some time before the elves decide she can be moved. Perhaps you should go down and pay them a visit?”

“I don’t know,” Kili grumbled and rested his head on the table’s surface.

“Don’t get mopey on me. I know you liked that she-elf, what was her name, started with a T?” Bofur winked slyly and shoved Kili’s shoulder playfully.

“Tauriel,” Kili muttered around a quiet laugh. “Her name is Tauriel.”

“That’s it, Tauriel. She ought to be down in Dale with her folks, right? You ought to go visit her before Thorin gets on your case about resuming more princely duties now that he’s been restored as King Under the Mountain. We still need to bury our dead, and then there will need to be a coronation, you know. Go to your lady-love and catch your breath before all that, eh? I won’t even tell Thorin where you’ve gone,” Bofur promised and setting down his things, gently ushered the younger prince out of the room.

When he got to the doorway, he patted Kili’s cheek with a tired smile.

“Find your elf, Kili. Thorin’s already given you his blessing, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, but,” Kili started.

“No  _ buts _ . She is your One, just as much as Tirnalil is Fili’s, as much as Bilbo is Thorin’s. You deserve to be happy. Don’t you think we’ve done enough to deserve a little happiness?”

There was a glimmer of sadness in Bofur’s eyes when he spoke, and Kili threw his arms around his friend, hugging him tightly as if it might keep away the sorrow. He didn’t know who or what Bofur had lost, but he imagined it had to do with his One.

“Thank you, Bofur,” he said, at last releasing the older dwarf, and turning on his heel, jogged down the hallway and up to the surface.

Three pairs finding their other halves was a miracle of Mahal’s good will, and Kili would not be the fool who let the opportunity pass him by. No, he would seize his chance for happiness. He would rejoice and shout it from the rooftops that he’d found his One. Let the other dwarves ridicule him if they must. Nothing could quiet the swirl of butterflies in his stomach at the thought that he could be so lucky.

As he passed through the gateway into Erebor, his eyes roved over the new doors being fitted into place. Made of heavy slabs of dark, nearly black wood, it would hold through the winter, until they could replace it with stone. Even so, its smooth surface had been carved and filled with inlays of silver and gold. At the peaks of both doors were the images of two dragons, one in silver, one in gold, face to face, poised to strike, and surrounded by stars. Hopefully Tirnalil would not hold it against the artist responsible for giving her two wings where she only had one. He chuckled and continued down the mountain, idly tossing up a smooth stone and catching it between his hands.

Perhaps in the spring, when the mountain passes were clear enough, his mother would come to visit, to see all that they’d accomplished in the months in between. He caught his stone and ran a finger across the carved runes on its surface. He’d made a promise to come back, to stay safe. Thanks to Tirnalil, he had. Dís would not begrudge Fili for his choice in a partner.

Kili had hardly been in the elves’ camp for very long before Tauriel found him. He had been so overjoyed to see her that he could not dampen the brightness of his smile. He must have looked half-crazed because the few others on the streets around him scrambled to get away.

“Hello, Kili. Are you well?” she asked gently when he approached her with a bow.

“You do not know how happy it makes me to see you again. I should have stayed with you, I should have stayed here.”

“You have a duty to your king,” she pointed out, then moved him off to the side of the walkway to let a man with a donkey get passed, the beast laden with sacks of grain.

“How are you doing, Tauriel? Has your king decided what he will do to you for helping us escape?” Kili asked nervously. He had known from the moment she sprung them from their cages, that it would not be a deed that went unpunished. They had escaped punishment for their fraternization, but there was a clear difference between making friends with prisoners and setting them loose.

Tauriel frowned. “Not formally, no, but I fear what he will do. I disobeyed him when I allowed Tirnalil to leave the mountain the day of the battle, but I would do it again. Yes, she was injured, but she lived. If I had forced her to stay, could the same be said for you? For Fili? For your king? I do not regret allowing her to join the fight. I only regret that we did not see the trap had been made for her, not for your kin.”

Struck silent by the gravity of her confession, Kili felt truly sorry for her, to have been put into such a position. In her stead, he could not say what he might have done. It was rumored that all elves had some gift of foresight, more powerful in some than others. If Tauriel felt as though her best option had been to let Tirnalil fight, then Kili was certain it had been the only option.

“We all lived, thanks to you and to her. What do you think he will do?” Kili asked and took Tauriel’s hands in his, stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs in calming circles until she smiled.

“I fear I shall never be permitted to enter the forest again. My heart will hurt for the loss, and I do not know how I will bear the pain,” she admitted, allowing a single tear to drop down her smooth, pale cheek.

“What about if you are with me?” Kili reached up into his hair and began to undo a braid, fingers moving quickly until a bead dropped into his hand. “I am no stranger to the feeling of losing one’s homeland. I have found that, when times are hardest, the stars remain. The same stars that hung over Erebor were the same as those above the Blue Mountains. As long as I had the stars, I could make anywhere my home. Stay with me, Tauriel. Stay with me and we can watch the stars until we grow old. My heart has never felt so light nor filled with hope as when I am with you.”

Tauriel did not accept the bead immediately, and for a long moment, Kili felt his heart breaking. His smile cracked then fell from his face as his outstretched hand quivered then began to drop. Then her fingertips ghosted over his palm and a shudder went through him. Mahal, he was weak. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes locked with hers, brown with green.

“Whatever awaits me, I would be happy to meet it by your side,” she answered and bent down to press a kiss to his cheek.

Sometime later they sat with their legs dangling over the edge of the dock, staring out over the vast expanse of the lake, while Kili skipped a handful of stones he’d carried with him from the shore. Tauriel sat beside him leaning her weight against her hands behind her, head tipped upwards to the first star dotting the sky. If she tilted her head just right, she could feel the weight of the bead shifting in her hair. Each time it brought a smile to her face, and she knew she could not be moved from her decision.

They lingered there in a peaceful quiet until Kili broke it with a chuckle. “How is it that my brother is farther along in his courtship than either me or my Uncle when it is his lady love who lies asleep?” 

“Perhaps your brother is the brave one, and you and your king are the cowards,” Tauriel teased, jostling his shoulder so that his next stone dropped into the water with a heavy  _ plop _ .

“I can be brave too!” Kili exclaimed, setting aside what stones remained and shaking his fist at the sky.

“I know, and you have proven yourself multiple times,” Tauriel quickly assured him, grabbing his hand and pulling him back down beside her. “But truthfully, Tirnalil has always been one to give her heart easily and fully to those who show her kindness. Your brother was her only light in the shadow when you were lost in the forest. That is where it started, where it turned from simple kindness to affection. By the time we freed you from your cells, she had already pledged her life in his defense, and by extension, in the defense of the lives of your kin.”

Kili hummed, then a sly grin spread across his face. “Did you know that he gave her a bead while we were in the cells?”

“Yes, although she did not recognize its significance then,” Tauriel answered with a light chuckle.

Kili raised an eyebrow. “And you did?”

“Well enough,” Tauriel replied with an easy shrug. “You forget that the Wood-elves had much more frequent dealings with dwarves than our kin in the Hidden Valley. We picked up a few things before the relationship between our peoples soured.”

“Did you tell her what it was?”

“I did not, I would not presume to know your brother’s intent. Tirnalil was adamant that she’d only been given the bead as proof she had his trust.”

“Oh, definitely, of course. He  _ trusted  _ her the moment she fell on him at Beorn’s house,” Kili cackled between the words.

Tauriel tried and failed to keep a straight face when Kili’s cackling turned into a complete loss of self control. He rolled across the dock, wheezing and clutching his sides from laughing so hard. Tauriel caught his wrist and dragged him back before he could roll right off the edge and into the water, though his face was so red she wondered if he might benefit from such a plunge. “What do you mean?”

Kili explained, in great, exaggerated detail, the epic story of how Fili had crashed into Tirnalil at Beorn’s home and how they lay on the floor for entirely too long. How Tirnalil had stroked the dwarf’s chest and recoiled when she found one of his many concealed weapons. Kili laughed at how she might have reacted if her hand had wandered south first (Tauriel jabbed her elbow into his side for that one). How Fili had seized her wrist in turn and they’d locked gazes, staring into each other’s eyes as if they contained the secrets of the universe. It had all been very lovey dovey and borderline uncomfortable before Gandalf saved them all from further embarrassment.

“She never told me all that,” Tauriel breathed out and stretched herself out across the dock next to the dwarf, both of them staring into the darkening heavens.

“Probably for good reason,” Kili suggested breathlessly. “They blushed redder than ripe tomatoes the rest of the morning until we reached the edge of the forest.”

“It is good that they found each other. They are luckier than they realize.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it not rare for your kind to find their  _ uiveleth _ , their eternal love? Elves only love once. I had thought dwarves were similar.”

With Tauriel’s translation, a wave of realization came over Fili’s face and he rolled onto his side to face her as he answered, “Yes, only we call them our Ones. How did you know they were each other’s?”

Tauriel shook her head. “Tirnalil is human, small for her kind, but still human. They do not have the same conventions of finding their fated partners, but your brother, he looks at her as if she carried  _ Ithil  _ into the sky herself, as if she hung the moon. She looks at him as though he carries the spirit of  _ Arien  _ within him. He is the dawn that fights the darkness that has followed her since the beginning. How could they not belong to each other?”

“One day, I hope to hear such beautiful words written about us,” Kili professed and kissed the back of one of Tauriel’s hands.

“There shall be songs of the fight for the mountain, I’m certain of it. Perhaps a verse shall be saved for us,” Tauriel wondered aloud, kissing his knuckles as well. “We should head back soon. It’s nearly time for Tirnalil’s next visit with the healers. If we are lucky and your brother has kept her from reinjuring herself, she may be deemed fit enough to be released from their care.”

Slowly, side by side, hand in hand, the elf and the dwarf made their way back through the collection of tents.

* * *

Bilbo had been allowed a small tent to himself by the Elvenking, for his efforts in the final battle for the mountain. He’d been too late to protect Tirnalil from the trap Azog had set for her, but not so late that he could not rally the dwarves and elves to go to her aid. Invisible to the eyes of orcs, he darted between their legs and forced his way through the waves that surged upwards from the shadows to chain the white dragon to the ground. He sprinted about the ruins until he came across Thorin and Dwalin. He had a split second to make his decision.

It had cost Tirnalil the blades of her tail, but in the end, it had been enough to save her life.

Bilbo had kept secret the fact that Tirnalil and Fili had been seized by the orcs, revealing it only once he’d located Kili and the elves, still panting from their fight with Bolg. He had known deep in his heart that he could not have stopped Thorin from rushing to Fili’s aid. Azog had counted on Tirnalil to rise to Fili’s defense, and he’d been right. She walked right into his trap, and Bilbo could not allow Thorin to do the same. So he told himself.

He still faced nightmares where they were too late, where they failed, where Tirnalil died, where she lived but Fili had not, where she blamed him for everything.

Those nights, he sat awake, a blanket pulled tight around his shoulders, as he stared at the dancing flames in the brazier at the center of the tent. Even the brazier was fitted with elaborate clawed feet, the metal of the cage woven and decorated with leaves. Trust the elves not to settle for anything less than elaborate decor.

A knock on one of the wooden beams supporting the tent disrupted his altogether frighteningly dark train of thought, and Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin turning to face it.

He found Thorin standing just inside the entrance to the tent, his head bowed so deeply that his chin had been tucked against his sternum and Bilbo could only see the crown of his head.

“Thorin, I- I did not expect to see you at this hour,” Bilbo huffed, tugging his blanket closer about his shoulders, as he dropped back down onto his seat before the fire. He kept his eyes on the king, waiting for him to move.

And Thorin did, dropping to his knees before the hobbit, but still keeping his head down as if he were unworthy of even looking at Bilbo.

“Bilbo, I would ask for your forgiveness for hurting you. I was not myself, but I must take the blame for it. From the moment you joined this Company, I have considered you too weak to continue. By the same token, every step of the way you have proven how wrong I was. Bilbo, I am sorry for all I have done, for all the hurts I have caused you,” Thorin sobbed from his knees.

“I require more than pretty words. I cannot tell you how much it hurt to have my life valued so little.” And truthfully it had broken his heart as thoroughly as if he’d been crushed beneath the foot of an oliphant. “After everything we’ve been through, I had hoped you would do better than you had.”

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness?” Finally Thorin lifted his eyes, and Bilbo was momentarily taken aback by the pain he found there.

It softened his heart, and Bilbo spoke quietly but earnestly. He could ask for nothing more. “Do better. Be better. Be the king that I thought you could be.”

“How can I start?”

“Return to your mountain and rebuild your kingdom,” Bilbo instructed. “Be a king I can stand behind, and for Yavanna’s sake, visit Tirnalil. She has not seen any of you since she went berserk. She probably still blames herself. That must have been why she was desperate enough to nearly get herself killed at Ravenhill.”

“Durin’s beard, no, I do not blame her for that, for I, too, fell into the thrall of the gold. Fili knew she was still trying to fight the dragon, she kept it from killing us then. She deserves our thanks, not our blame.”

“Then you must tell her that.”

“She has taken no visitors since she was brought back from Ravenhill.”

Bilbo sighed. “Then I suppose you’ll just have to wait. Until then, I think I’d like to be left alone.”

He turned away from the dwarf and gazed into the fire from the corner of his eye, making his dismissal clear, but he heard no sound of shuffling feet behind him. He did not dare to look back, lest his resolve falter. The featherlight touch of a hand to his shoulder caused him to spin in his seat to face him once more. The familiar ethereal glow of the Arkenstone momentarily blinded him, he’d been so unprepared, but as soon as he blinked his vision back into clarity, his brows came together in confusion.

Thorin quickly explained, “It’s for you. The King’s Jewel has always been a symbol of my right to rule, but I will not claim it until I am the king this kingdom deserves. Until that time, I can think of no safer place than under the care of a hobbit. You came into this quest with the least prior skill or knowledge, and yet here you stand, having battled trolls, wargs, orcs, and even a dragon. Bilbo, please. I know you will keep it safe.”

“O-o-of course,” the hobbit mumbled awkwardly, fumbling to take the heavy jewel from the dwarf while simultaneously detangling himself from his nest of blankets.

With nothing left to say, Thorin bowed, tucking his chin to his chest, and left without another word while Bilbo stared into the shining surface of the Arkenstone. All of the pain and tension between them, over a stone.

Moving quickly to the little desk that had been set in a corner of the tent, Bilbo wrapped it up in a spare handkerchief the color of a gloomy winter sky and tucked it into a leather bag just barely large enough to fit it inside though he struggled to buckle the top flap back over. Having given it a safe place to be carried, Bilbo gave up sitting by the fire and returning to his cot, buried himself beneath the blankets. 

Only then did he consider the fact that it had to have been late into the night and yet Thorin had still come to see him. Had they been back in the Shire, he could already imagine the gossip that would abound at the sheer impropriety of a late night visit. Quite a lot of gossip must be waiting for him already. To go from a respectable Hobbit to one who not only plays host to thirteen dwarves but then goes on a whirlwind adventure with them to wrestle a homeland from a dragon? Completely unheard of! He’d be lucky if he still had a home to go back to, given the rushed state of affairs when he’d left. Hopefully the Old Gaffer had held down the fort, as it were, and Lobelia hadn’t yet moved into Bag End.

Idly, he wondered if he might be able to write back to the Thain and threaten his personal friendship with a dragon as a means of securing his estate. He rolled over in bed, pulling the covers over his head. Tomorrow. He’d write tomorrow.

He’d had quite enough for today, thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the chapter I had saved in my notes under the title "This is not the end."
> 
> Now we're getting to the chapters that I really need to work on so I expect to be delayed again next week, but hopefully not by too much.


	9. Chapter 8b

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A King is crowned but a sickness still lingers within the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically 8b in my notes because 8 started to get way too long lol. So this one in turn will be a little short, but it also didn't fit in super well with the rest of 8. Plus, I don't currently qualify for Covid19 testing which is a good thing, I guess, but it hurts to breathe so eyyyyyy shelter in place and self-isolation life it is.
> 
> As it is, sorry this one was later than usual, but it's here now. Please enjoy.  
> Khuzdul translations at the end notes!

As the days went on, Thorin made every effort to be a good king. He had locked away the Raven Crown of his forefathers as it left a poor taste in his mouth and forged a new crown himself, silver wings wrapped around a central sapphire stone. He’d already been unofficially declared king as soon as he recovered from his injuries in the final battle enough to stand and move around the mountain without aid, but he would not wear the new crown until enough of his Company had healed to attend a real coronation ceremony. Balin, of course, would lead the whole affair, but he’d been so caught up in running through inventories of what supplies they had and what they needed that he’d scarcely had a moment to himself.

Thankfully, due to Tirnalil’s final stand and self-sacrificing mission, they had suffered few grievous injuries amongst their Company. Still, too many lives of men, dwarves, and elves had been lost in the battle for the mountain, and before the worst of the repairs could be started, they had to bury their dead, the new and the forgotten. Thorin stood silent as the bodies of those who’d been trapped in the mountain for the last sixty years were finally carried into the light. The dwarves would be returned to stone. Ashes to ashes.

Despite Thorin’s harsh words and deeds while he had been under the gold’s influence, Bilbo remained at his side the entire time, a source of comfort where Thorin had expected to find none. They did not touch, Bilbo still too fearful of the contact, but he stood near enough for Thorin to feel the warmth of his body in the dark cold of the tombs.

The mountain seemed lighter without the corpses littering its ancient halls, and for the first time, Thorin felt relief, as if he and his Company might finally be able to find peace. The Company ate together at a long table at the head of the large dining hall on a platform raised a few steps above the rest of the hall, and off to one end sat the little hobbit, dwarfed by his dwarven companions. A smile tugged at his lips as he brought the meat from a successful hunt to his lips to augment the potatoes brought in from the south by supply chains already returning to the North after news of the dragon’s defeat had spread. His heart ached for the hurts he caused to his One, but to see him still supping under his roof filled him with hope that he would find his peace before long.

Fili and Kili had seated themselves on either side of Bilbo, looking to all the world unaffected by the recent events, but Thorin knew better. Every laugh Kili pried from his brother had been hard won. Thorin had seen the younger in the hall leaning with his back against Fili’s door, pleading for him to come away to eat with the Company, just for a night. He made the same request each night, most often coming down with nothing to show for his efforts. The first time, Thorin offered his help, but there was a look in Kili’s eyes he knew all too well. This was a matter between brothers who’d been through trauma and nearly lost each other in the process. They would work it out themselves. 

So, when Fili arrived at the table at his brother’s side, he made no comment on the fact that he’d seen precious little of his nephew or the fact that his nephew had not been quite so thin before the elves returned Tirnalil to their care. He simply rejoiced in the fact that his nephew had come at all. Given enough time, they might be able to return to a little of the normalcy they’d had in the Blue Mountains. Dís would not allow them to suffer in sadness any longer than was strictly necessary. They did not have the luxury of the timelessness of the elves. There were always more things to be done, more things to be happy about. Time did not exist to be wasted.

Stories of old glories and the adventures in the wilds made the rounds over dinner that night between toasts to those they’d lost. Ale flowed freely and for the time being, their grief was swept aside. The dwarves were a hardy people and they would recover. Already, nearly everyday there had been a slow stream of dwarves filing into the mountain, small groups of the displaced eager to return home. Those who had traveled beyond the Misty Mountains would have to wait until the spring thaw reopened the passes, but those who went to the various villages and cities of men to the south made quick work of abandoning their posts and joining the effort to restore Erebor instead.

Throughout it all, Fili had scarcely left his rooms in the royal wing. As soon as the elves determined that Tirnalil would not perish from being moved, she had been transferred to the mountain. No one argued when he directed that the stretcher that carried her be taken to his quarters. The elves, no longer needing to maintain their camp for her sake, packed up and departed for their own lands, save for a decently sized group that stayed behind to ensure Dale would not fall over the winter. There she remained, never leaving, and never taking visitors outside of the brothers and Tauriel. Oin often checked on her, having taken the reins from the elves, but he swore up and down to maintain patient-healer confidentiality whenever Thorin tried to pry the truth of her condition from him.

He did not expect the various birds that came from Mirkwood requesting updates on her condition and preferred to leave them unanswered, lest he be blamed for the lack of improvement, but Bilbo, it seemed, had a way of finding friends in all places. When the first letter from the forest kingdom went missing from his desk, Thorin had thought nothing of it. Then, the second came, thanking him for a reply he certainly hadn’t sent himself. When confronted, Bilbo had given him a quick smile and muttered something about how Thranduil was not asking as a king, but as a father, and that Thorin was thinking too much as a king and not a future uncle-in-law. And he’d patted him on the back and gone off down the hall with his tray of scones as if he hadn’t just answered the king’s mail for him, as if it was just another day. 

If only things could be so simple all the time. 

Thorin stood for several minutes at the doorway before rapping his knuckles against the frame. Fili did not move a muscle from where he sat in a chair beside the bed. As Thorin approached, he took note of Tirnalil’s sleeping form against the dark blue sheets. If he’d been concerned for Fili on the basis of how much weight he’d lost, he was floored by the dragon’s current condition. More than before, he wished that he could turn back time and force himself to see sense. He had caused her so much suffering, and now his nephew, his precious sister-son, suffered at her side. His sister would never forgive him for such mistreatment of an innocent. He’d been so blind to Tirnalil’s kindness, too preoccupied with her dragon’s half to look any deeper.

If he’d been more a king then than a madman, perhaps all of the suffering that had come to them could have been avoided. If he’d taken her defense of them on the cliff as a sign of her trustworthiness, they might never have wasted so much time in Mirkwood. They might have come to the battle well defended, months earlier, with the elves of the Woodland Realm at their back. Tirnalil might never have had to make her final stand at Ravenhill. He might never have had to tell his nephew to leave her. That it was too late.

Thankfully, on all points regarding the dragon, he’d been proven wrong. Most of all he’d been proven wrong on that last, most vital point.

The Grey Wizard always said wizards were never early, nor were they late. They arrived precisely when they meant to.

Thorin thought to himself, the same could be said for the elves.

“Fili, you are the Crown Prince of Erebor. You have to be visible to your people,” he spoke plainly, hoping that his voice didn't sound too reproachful. He had not come to chastise his nephew, only to speak the truth. He reached out a hand but dropped it back to his side at the last second.

“And I will, Uncle, but I almost lost her. It pains me to be parted from her,” Fili explained, turning in his seat to lock gazes with his uncle, and even now, it seemed to cause him anguish even turning his gaze away from her. Thorin’s heart ached for his nephew.

“I know, but you must do your duty as prince.” As he must perform his duty as King. They could wait no longer to make their claims to the mountain throne official. It was high time the dwarves came together under the banner of the house of Durin.

“Does this mean you will have your coronation?” Fili’s voice was empty and he returned his gaze to his One lying under the covers. His thumb traced imaginary circles over the back of her hand.

“Yes, and you yours as the Crown Prince, and Kili after you. We have delayed long enough.”

“When would it be?”

“Three days hence, at midday. I shall pray to Mahal that Tirnalil is well enough to join us, Fili,” Thorin promised, but even to him, the words sounded hollow. Finally he patted his nephew on the shoulder and continued with a single, gentle squeeze, “but with or without her, this must happen.”

Neither dwarf spoke for several minutes. Fili sighed heavily, and Thorin’s hand fell from his shoulder with a shrug. “Is that all?”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to sigh, and he nervously shifted away from Fili. He crossed the room and lowered himself to the seat before the fire, perching at the edge of its cushion so that he leaned over, elbows on his thighs, to look into the flames. His face burned, but he scooted himself closer to the heat, so that it might burn away his shame.

“There is another matter. Bilbo brought it to my attention that Tirnalil blames herself for losing control over the dragon, that it might have been why she was so ready to kill herself to save us, to save you.”

“She does still blame herself,” Fili admittedly quietly, “but it is not what drove her to the tower.”

Thorin did not know what he could say in response to that. It was not a statement that lent itself to a reply that would not detract from the gravity of the words. Some part of him had always known what drove the dragon to that fateful place. He felt it himself when the hobbit appeared, disheveled and breathless, demanding that he and Dwalin follow. He had hardly heard the words above the drumbeat of his heart echoing in his ears. He’d been so afraid to find his hobbit in such a dangerous place. He would have done anything if it meant he could protect his One. As surely as he knew that Bilbo was his one, he was certain Tirnalil was Fili’s.

Men did not have soulbonds in the way of dwarves or elves, but perhaps dragons did.

His face twisted into a grimace at the memory of how poorly he’d judged her back in Beorn’s home, how ready he’d been to cast her aside, but even then, he remembered the spark that lit up between them. 

“If she is well enough, there is something I would like to present to her, as a token of my thanks for everything she’s done,” Thorin said awkwardly. He paused and was reminded of the rest of the Company and how they spent a great deal of time in Erebor’s various workshops. “I am certain I’m not the only one who wishes to thank her.”

“I’ll ask her when she wakes.”

“Please,” Thorin shifted around on the seat to lock eyes with his nephew and bowed his head. “And tell her that we- that _I_ am sorry I was not a better king when it mattered.”

Fili raised his head, eyes shining with unshed tears, and nodded slowly. 

“I will,” he promised, and with that, Thorin left him to his thoughts once more.

He brought a shallow dish of water over from the washroom and delicately began to wipe Tirnalil’s skin free of the sweat that had accumulated since the morning. Between the nightmares and the recurring fever Fili found it difficult to leave her side for long. The Elvenking had promised that she would recover, given time, but seeing her lying there, frail and listless, he found it hard to believe. He had to have faith in Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, for he’d heard their names before, when they traveled across the wilderness escorting traders, he’d heard stories of their magical powers, how they could breathe life into the dying and heal any wound. He had to believe in them. He had to believe that she would get better. As hard as it was, he had precious little else to do.

Between cat naps while watching over Tirnalil, he wrote to his mother. His trips to the rookery were indeed some of the only times he could be found outside his rooms at all. He did not trouble the ravens to deliver mail to him personally, preferring to use the time to retrieve the replies himself to breathe. As soon as he stepped inside, a raven soared down from one of the upper levels and stuck out its leg when it reached his shoulder. While he untied the scroll, it nibbled affectionately at his ear.

“That’s enough of that,” he admonished it, shooing it off his shoulder and onto a nearby perch. “I’ll have a reply for you hopefully later today, but there is no rush to return over the mountains. Take as much rest as you need.”

The bird cawed loudly and returned to its preferred roost high above, its large wings stirring up dirt and sawdust, making the beams of light from the open windows glow all the more brightly before the dust settled down again. As soon as the mountain had been reclaimed, the ravens also returned, albeit in a slower trickle than the dwarves had. With Ravenhill destroyed, they had to make do with the smaller, older rookery at the top of the mountain. It was not as well ventilated, but until another tower could be raised, it would have to be enough. Still, he was grateful for their return.

He missed his mother. It had been too long since he’d last been able to write to her.

He tucked the letter into the inner pocket of his coat and headed back down the mountain. Along the way, he ran into Kili and Tauriel, neither of whom stopped him to ask where he was headed, something else he was grateful for, though he felt their eyes follow him down the steps until he turned the corner. He needed this time to himself. He continued walking until he left the mountain behind, swinging towards the west to a secluded grove of trees nestled between two ridges with a small stream bubbling up from the mountainside before it rejoined the River Running farther down.

He jumped with all his might towards one of the lower branches of a large oak and, hauling himself up with a grunt, sat astride the branch with his back to the trunk. Looking out across the vast plains before the mountain, marred by the scars of war, he hoped it would heal quickly enough for Tirnalil to enjoy it in the spring. His mother had told him stories of how, after the snow melted, the entire mountainside became flush with color, wildflowers blooming up and down the slopes like Yavanna had gone wild with a paintbrush in the night. He’d never seen it himself, but he hoped beyond hope that they might be able to share the experience of seeing the blooms for the first time.

Carefully he broke open the wax seal and smoothed out the curl in the page as well as he could against his thigh. It was a short message, and he tried not to be disappointed by it.

“ _Fili,_

_“It’s been several days since Erebor was reclaimed, and I have received no word that you’ve had your coronation. I understand wanting your One to be there beside you, but it is time you set your emotions aside and acted like the prince you know you are, that I raised you to be. If she is truly your One, and it certainly sounds like it is, she will find a way to be there for you._ ”

_Put my emotions aside? But she’s sick, being there might kill her_ , he wanted to say. Instead, his grip on the parchment tightened and it crumpled slightly under his fingers. He took a deep breath to settle himself before he continued reading.

“ _Believe it or not, Fili, I have been in your position before. I know the pain you’re feeling. I felt it when I held your father through his last moments before he went to the halls of our fathers. There is nothing worse than watching your One fade away. I have prayed to Mahal every night that he keeps her safe for you, that you will never feel the same suffering that I have felt._

_“The battle before Khazad-dûm cost the lives of the two dearest to me, and my heart has never been the same since. You are more like your late uncle than you can ever know. Frerin was like you, always drawn to a challenge, but so in love with the wild things of the earth, and they loved him back just as fiercely. I am not surprised that you would find yourself committed to a dragon. And you have your father’s heart. You feel the wounds of others more deeply than you feel your own, and I love you dearly for it, but you must be her strength now. Tell her that I will kill her myself if she dies on you. I would like to meet the one who has captured my son’s heart._ ”

Fili laughed through his tears. Only when they dropped onto the parchment did he notice the tiny splotches of blurred ink. So his mother had cried as well. 

“ _I will see you in the spring,_ _Kurkarukê_ _. Take care, my dear boy. And until then, Mahazralizu 'uglakh_.”

Neither Thorin nor Dís spoke of their fallen sibling often, so he and Kili knew precious little about their late uncle. For the briefest moment the grief of being reminded of Frerin overshadowed the ever present grief of knowing that Tirnalil’s condition was still precarious. Sucking in a deep breath, Fili stared out across the snowy plains to the city of Dale below. Slowly, his racing heart slowed its pace and he could find the comfort in being reminded of his late uncle. Thorin had said the same thing before, that he reminded him of his fallen brother. He hadn’t known what to do then, he didn’t ask, and Thorin hadn’t offered any context either. But now, he thought he understood it.

He’d always considered Kili to be the lover of the wild things, he’d always thirsted for the stars and adventure in a way that Fili hadn’t. Although he didn’t run about the woods or scale trees like the elves, he had always enjoyed the peace one could find beneath a blanket of clouds on a warm summer’s day. He only ever hunted out of necessity, turning down offers to hunt for sport, to burn off energy after a bad week in the mines. Perhaps his late uncle had been the same.

Whatever the reason for the comparison, he could not dishonor it by failing Tirnalil now. Tucking the letter into his coat pocket, he hopped down from his perch and returned to the mountain. Time to be the prince he’d always been meant to be.

* * *

Days came and went, and while Fili sat with his brother before the fire, their backs to the bed where Tauriel sat curled around the dragon, he absently sharpened his knives. His fingers moved mechanically, moving between the different grits of sharpening stones, wiping down the blades as they were finished, setting them aside on a violet towel tossed over a side table he’d dragged over, and proceeding to the next in his personal armoury. Beside him, Kili diligently sorted a collection of bird feathers into two piles. To the right of his seat, he’d leaned a quiver of naked arrow shafts. It was just like old times, Fili thought to himself. Save for the addition of the she-elf and the dragon behind them.

Every now and then, he glanced over his shoulder, but the position of the women hardly ever changed. 

As he’d promised his uncle, he had told Tirnalil what his uncle had said and also what he’d proposed, and while she’d seemed receptive to the idea, the flicker of fear had not escaped his notice and no amount of reassurance had seemed enough to shake her away from that fear. He’d recruited Tauriel for her help, but having his brother beside him had been a blessing for him as well. He had hidden himself away for far too long. They did not need to speak to enjoy the other’s companionship.

Back on the bed, Tirnalil kept her eyes shut, but she hung on every word that fell from Tauriel’s lips. She’d been isolated for so long, it sounded as if she’d missed so many things, and she was desperate to hear all of it. Tauriel told her of the heavy snow outside and how beautiful it was to watch the snowfall from the ramparts and the sunlight when it broke through the clouds. In the night, sometimes she and Kili would go down to Dale to visit with the Bardlings. Those were her favorite stories. She missed little Tilda something fierce, but she curled into herself when Tauriel asked if she wanted to accompany them on their next trip down the mountain. Even if her health were up to traveling in the cold, her heart was not there yet.

“She asks about you each time, you know,” Tauriel murmured, her voice gentle.

“What do you tell her?”

“The truth, that you are still recovering from the battle,” the elf answered with a slight pause. “When Lord Thranduil left your care to me, he warned that there might be permanent effects from your wounds, that you might never fully recover. If this is true, you mustn’t stay in your room for the rest of your life. As much as you are able, you should get outside. We are all here to help you.”

“I know,” Tirnalil mumbled and rubbed her face with her hands. “I just can’t seem to find the motivation when everything hurts so much.”

Tauriel bit her lip, though Tirnalil could not see the conflict warring on her face. “You also can’t stay here forever if you’re trying to avoid facing Oakenshield’s company. They do not blame you for what happened on the mountain. The call of the gold was strong, and you were not its only victim.”

Tirnalil pushed herself away from Tauriel so quickly, she immediately doubled over with violent coughs, but she waved off both dwarves, forcing herself to swallow down some water from a pitcher beside the bed, forgoing the glass that had been set beside it.

“It doesn’t matter if who else succumbed to it. They were _dwarves_ . What damage could they do compared to a _dragon_? I could have killed them all!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Fili pushed himself from his seat so quickly it toppled behind him, sending his knives clattering to the floor, but when he attempted to approach the bed, Tirnalil pinned him in place with a glower so fierce he didn’t dare take another step. He pleaded brokenly, hands outstretched in front of him, “Tir…”

“ _Don’t_ ,” she snarled and with every ounce of strength she had, slid her legs off the bed and struggled to stand, hands clutching the bedpost. White knuckled, she straightened her legs and took a deep breath. No one moved an inch despite their minds roaring to help her. She made it almost all the way across the room before she collapsed to her hands and knees only a few feet from the desk. No one commented when they heard the sobbing start.

It was so frustrating to be so weak, to be so reliant, but she was tired, so tired. None of this was fair. Gritting her teeth, she picked herself off the ground and pulled herself up into the chair, resting her head on the cool wood for a moment before she pulled a sheet of parchment from a drawer and unstoppered a bottle of ink.

“Please leave me,” she muttered just loudly enough to be heard over the crackle of the flames.

Distantly she was aware of Kili taking up his arrows and his bits of feathers and sliding his hand in Tauriel’s before they went as a pair towards the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fili stop them with a hand, but with his back to her, she could neither hear nor see what words were being exchanged, so she refocused her attention on the paper before her. Now that she had a quill in hand, the words that needed to be said died on her lips, and she could not recall them.

So lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed Fili at her back until he gently set the pitcher of water beside her along with a short glass.

“Should I stay?” he asked carefully.

Keeping her eyes to the desk, she rubbed her temples with both hands. She felt his breath tickling the hair by her ear as he sighed.

“Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

Then he stepped away and slowly gathered up his knives, returning them to their places on his person after he righted the armchair. Pulling down a book from the shelves above the desk, he retreated to the bed and didn’t make another sound.

That left her with the distressing notion of who to address the letter to. If it even was a letter. She shook her head. Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps it was better to just write and write and write until all her thoughts she couldn’t speak could be purged from her mind. There were still some things she couldn’t say to Fili. Maybe in the future, yes, but for now, her wounds were still too raw.

Aulë had made no promise for how much longer she’d be allowed to live after her death at Ravenhill, and already it felt as though too much time had passed. She still struggled with the simple task of crossing the room. What if she never recovered? What if all Aulë had done was prolong her suffering? Tease her with a taste of more time, but time that would amount to nothing?

It wasn’t fair.

In the end, she addressed her letter to Mithrandir, the quill flowing over the parchment in a beautifully delicate script: 

_What did you think would happen when you asked me to follow your dwarves? Did you envision a glorious ending to the chapter of Smaug’s inhabitance of the mountain? Did you believe that I would become the new guardian of Erebor, to stand watch over its people, and the kingdom under the mountain? How much did you know? Had you already weighed the value of my life against the lives of the dwarves?_

_If the mountain was so strategic a position to the defense of the north against whatever imagined threat you concocted, how much of my sacrifice was part of your strategy? Was there truly no other way to reclaim the mountain except with my death?_

_I can’t even be mad at you. Though I wish there was a different ending to this story, I would not change its beginning. Thanks to you, I met Fili. I have a feeling that I would live a long life amongst the elves if I had never joined their quest, but a life alone is not a life at all. I wish there was a better ending to my story. I wish that none of my suffering had ever needed to come to pass, but I’m afraid that, like you, I have also weighed the value of my life against the dwarves._

_I am glad that I was able to make good on my promise. By my death, I will have seen Erebor restored to its rightful rulers._

To Thranduil, the Elvenking, her first haven:

_You blame the dwarves for my condition, but you have more reason to be at fault than they. Had you swallowed your pride and let them pass, I would never have lingered so long in the forest. I was sick, sicker than I have ever been, and for what reason? Because you shut your doors, pulled back your borders, too frightened of the growing dark to meet it with force and drive it back. You closed off your kingdom to others because you could stomach those losses, before you would suffer more losses of your own people._

_And now you will lose me because of it. You let that sickness grow, and that is what made me weak. If I’d been strong enough, had I been at my full strength, I could have defeated Smaug in an instant. I could not release the true power of the dragon because to do so in my condition would have meant a total surrender to its will. I would have had no hope of stopping it until it purged me from its mind completely. The Tirnalil you knew would have been gone, and in its place a dragon more dangerous than the one you allowed to lie sleeping at your doorstep._

_All because you let the shadow grow. You did this to me._

She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle the sobs, praying the Fili would not come to her unless she asked. This was something she had to do herself. She picked up the quill again and kept writing, steadying herself with a long inhale.

_But I can’t blame you. I_ don’t _blame you. I know the losses you suffered in the last battle, in the last alliance between elves and men. I know you still carry the fear of suffering the same losses. Elves reproduce slowly and infrequently. Any loss is felt deeply, and as their king, you are responsible for each life. I cannot blame you for making the only choice you had to keep your people safe. I only wish you had had more faith in your own training. Your elves are strong, and your losses caused you to be wary, less prideful. They fought well in the battle for the mountain. They could have defended your borders against the growing dark._

_I hope you do better in the future. After I’m gone. Or before. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I cannot risk entering that poisoned forest again until it has been rid of its evil. If it turns out that Aulë’s gift can offer me another year on this earth, then I will not forfeit it so easily to see you again. Though I miss you dearly. And Legolas. I am glad for Tauriel’s company, but I miss running through the trees in the sunlight, racing your stag in the nighttime. I had never felt more alive. I want those days again. Please. Fight the dark and bring back the light. If not for me, do it for your people. You are the king of wood elves yet you live in a hall of stone. Return to them the trees of their fathers._

_Make it the Greenwood again._

To Lord Elrond, her second haven:

_I’m sorry for the way that I left. I have to believe that the Lady Galadriel told you eventually what had happened to me, or that you figured it out for yourself when you were notified the dwarves had also gone. Even so, I wish I had been able to say goodbye then. How sad to think that I have already died once without saying goodbye to you. It seems almost more unfair than the dying itself, after everything you’ve done for me. For that, I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry. I cannot say it enough. I am grateful for the safe haven that Imladris became for me all those years. I would never have been able to make it this far without your help._

_Tell Arwen that I will carry my love for her to the next world, and the same to Elladan and Elrohir, and also to Aragorn. I could not have asked for better companions. They had never once been afraid of me and had always treated me as a friend. My heart had been empty without Tauriel’s friendship, and they helped to make it whole again. Tell them that I’m sorry for leaving them._

To Lady Galadriel:

_Did you know of Mithrandir’s plan before he started to put things in motion? At what point did you step in, give him counsel? How much of what you had seen actually came to pass? How much had not? You said that you saw me die but not that I’d return, but at what point did you come upon that knowledge? Did you know from the night on the cliff that there was only one way for this story to end? Did you tell me to continue, knowing that I would die? Did you knowingly send me to my death? Was my life a small exchange for a greater purpose?_

_Will I die to save the world from something greater? Or will I have died for nothing? Bard killed the dragon, despite how much he would like for me to claim the victory myself. Perhaps if I’d been in a better condition, I could have done it myself, but in the end, I was nearly killed for my efforts. Did you see that too? It doesn’t matter. Not anymore._

_No, at this point, I only want to know that I have not cursed Fili as well. Tell me that you have seen a long and prosperous future ahead of him. Tell me that you see him become king after his uncle. Tell me that he does not have to suffer again, that the mountain is never stolen from the house of Durin again. Tell me that Kili and Tauriel inherit the kingdom and their children after them. Tell me that all of this will be worth it and that Fili and I will meet again in happiness, after a long life. Tell me that he finds happiness. That is all I want. Tell me that and I will make my peace with death._

_If Fili lives to become king, then all this will have been worth it. I will meet Aulë happily if you can tell me this._

To Fili:

_That day, in Beorn’s house, what did you feel when we collided? I felt a spark like I never have before, and I feel it still, lighting my heart aflame, making it race in my chest like a rabbit caged before a wolf. Every time I look at you, I do not know which is the stronger feeling, the fear or the hope. Yet, in your arms, I know which wins every time. It is the feeling of home, safety, and warmth, and I cherish every moment with you. I felt safe before when I lived with Lord Elrond, but I did not feel at home the same way that I do when I’m with you._

_No matter how much Lady Galadriel or any of the others knew of the future, if they had known it would result in my death, if they’d tried to dissuade me, I know that I could not have obeyed. From the moment we touched, my fate was already sealed. Nothing could move me from my path from that point forward. I do not know if it is love, but it is trust. I trust you with my life and I would give mine in the defense of yours. Which I suppose I already have. I am better for having known you. You have given me strength when so many times I could only think of lying in the dirt and abandoning your quest._

_And I forced you to make a promise. And you kept it._

_You fought me and thank the stars, you did not have to kill me, but you honored your promise. It was the hardest thing I could have asked of you, and you did as I asked. So for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart._

_When this is over, whether I recover or not, when I’m gone from this world, I hope you’ll find some happiness to look back upon._

_I’m still afraid that I made the wrong choice. That I chose my happiness over yours. I couldn’t bear the pain of watching you fade, but that’s the burden I’ve placed on your shoulders instead. I have lived for too many lifetimes alone and afraid. I’m sorry, Fili, but I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t curse myself to an eternity without you, even if it meant I could love you for the rest of your natural life. Whatever time Aulë has given me, it will have to be enough. I will make it enough._

Slowly, she dropped the quill back into the inkwell and slumped against the back of the chair, her eyes unfocused. The side of her hand was smudged with ink, she’d written so quickly, as quickly as the words came to mind, she had to get them out. 

Before she could talk herself out of it, she gathered up the pages and tossed them into the fire.

“Fili?” she ventured, voice quiet, while her eyes remained locked on the dancing flames.

A book shut quietly behind her, and she heard the rustle of the sheets before she heard his answer, a soft, “Yes?”

“Can you help me back to bed?” she asked, already on the verge of tears again.

Immediately, he sprang up and was at her side, rubbing her arm soothingly. He took one look at her face and poured a glass of water, pressing it into her hands. “Drink first. Then we can go back to bed.”

She did as he asked and gratefully curled her arms around his neck as he pulled her up from the chair, leaning her weight against his front. They didn’t start walking for several moments while she cried into the side of his neck. He hummed softly in her ear, stroking her hair, until she loosened her hold. Only then did he move them back to the bed, leaning his back against the headboard while he cradled her between his legs.

“I’m sorry, Fili,” she murmured, finding his hand atop the covers and squeezing once. 

Fili shook his head. “There is nothing you need to apologize for, _‘ibinê_.”

“But there is. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or at Tauriel. I’m just,” she paused, squeezing his hand again, “I’m just scared of what I could have done. I could have killed all of you. It would have been so easy. All I can remember is the smell of your fear and the sound of your hearts racing. I felt so alive, so powerful, it was intoxicating. I _wanted_ to kill you all.”

He squeezed back just as fiercely, forcing her to look up at him, golden eyes gleaming. “But you didn’t. The Tirnalil I knew was in there, she pulled through. And now that part of you is gone. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore. You said it yourself. From now on, you would only ever be you. You just have to believe it.”

“But-”

“No buts. You feel guilty because of what you could have done, but nothing happened. My uncle and the others all recognized that it wasn’t you back then, and they all recognized your sacrifice at Ravenhill. You gave your life in our service, and that is a gift that begs repayment. You need to forgive yourself, Tir. They have already long since forgiven you.”

A single silent tear dripped down her cheek and dropped into the covers, and she nudged her head under his chin. “Thank you, Fili. For everything.”

* * *

The day before the coronation, weeks after the battle for the mountain had ended and the majority of the elven host had returned to the forest, Tirnalil had to face facts. It had been too long since she’d seen anyone beyond Tauriel, Fili, and Kili. For too long she’d been plagued by nightmares of burning the Company alive in dragonfire, of losing herself to the dragon completely. Fili pulled her back from the dark every time, but she could see the effects of the long nights wearing on him as well. Bags hung under his eyes where they had no right to be. And he’d been right. It was time to forgive herself.

“Are you certain you’re up to it, Tir?” Fili asked as he pulled the laces tight on his boots.

“No, but I cannot wait any longer,” she whispered and watched him leave to fetch the others.

Grateful that he hadn’t forced her to leave the bed, she smoothed out her hair and leaned her head back against the headboard. While her physical wounds had healed thanks to the efforts of the elves, a constant plague of dizziness forced her to remain in bed. The dwarves’ proclivity for walkways without any protective barriers made it too dangerous for her to traverse the mountain alone. At least for the time being.

A knock at the door caused her heart to beat a rapid rhythm against her ribcage. She swallowed, throat tight and mouth suddenly dry, and called for them to enter.

Fili pushed open the door, and the Company flowed inside until they formed a half-circle around the foot of the bed, each of them carrying something in their hands, some struggling to hold their gifts more than others, Bombur being one of those struggling. Bilbo shifted his weight nervously at the farthest end of the line of dwarves on her left, then the Ris, then Bifur, Bombur, and Bofur, then Thorin flanked by Kili, then Balin and Dwalin, then finally Gloin and Oin at her right. Fili remained by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and a soft smile upon his face, promising her that she would be all right

The hobbit fidgeted with a small wooden box in his hand, twitching his nose often enough the movement of it caught Tirnalil’s attention. He thrust out his arm towards her, the box sitting neatly in his palm. “It’s a gift, for you, um, obviously it’s for you. I picked it up at Beorn’s and I’d meant to keep it for myself, but then you almost died, and, well, anyway, it’s for you.”

When she lifted the lid of the box and shook its contents out into her palm she found a single four-sided seed pod, dark russet in color with a darker center.

“It’s from a silverbell tree,” he explained, twisting his hands together in front of him. “I’ve never seen the blooms myself, but when Beorn told me, they made me think of you.”

“Thank you, Bilbo,” she whispered earnestly, returning the seed to its box and holding it delicately in front of her. Perhaps she ought to ask Fili about the likelihood that she might be able to create a garden nearby. Maybe she could even convince Bilbo and Beorn to share their best gardening tips.

Dori coughed into his hand and presented her with a box of his own, not much larger than Bilbo’s but with an intricate design of dragon scales burned into the top of the lid. Unlike Bilbo’s box, this one had a hinge, and when she turned the lid over, she found several small cloth packets containing what could only be tea. She lifted one packet to her nose and inhaled the rich scent of cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and cardamom. 

“Tea will help to calm your mind, I find it always works for me,” he muttered and bowed his head to her.

Then Ori passed her a little journal bound in sky blue leather with the crest of Durin stamped into its front. “It’s not much, I know, but journaling helped me to cure the boredom when I was bedridden some years ago from a pox. I hope you will find some use in it as well.”

When Nori extended his hand towards her, Tirnalil’s eyes widened dramatically at the sudden appearance of a knife in her face. “For you. Without the dragon’s aid, you should still be able to defend yourself,” he told her gruffly, but with surprising tenderness, he set the knife down on the bedspread, patting it twice before he folded his hands behind his back.

Bifur made a series of gestures she couldn’t even pretend to understand before depositing a bundle of different fabric scraps at the foot of the bed and gesturing for her to pick it up. When she did, she realized the scraps were meant to act as a sort of gift wrap, letting them fall away to reveal her dragon form captured in stained glass. He gestured again before crossing his arms over his chest with a proud smile.

Bofur stepped in to translate. “He doesn’t work in stained glass often, but he felt you deserved the extra effort. He hopes you appreciate it.”

“I do, I do, this is amazing,” Tirnalil assured them both even as tears filled her eyes.

Bofur slipped out of the line of dwarves and pushed his way through on her right, setting down an oddly shaped gift, long and pointed at the ends, larger in the middle, wrapped in a similar manner to Bifur’s gift, only bulkier. He pulled off the first layer of fabric to offer it to her, a sad smile on his face, when he saw her rub her face.

“Oh, you mustn’t cry. We aren’t done yet,” he said and passed her one of the fabric scraps to dry her eyes.

She dabbed away her tears and accepted Bofur’s present, gently lifting away the fabric until she realized what lay underneath. Why a toymaker joined the quest to reclaim the mountain always astounded her, but his skill was legendary. What little she’d seen from his wood carving on the road paled in comparison to what he’d managed since they took back Erebor. A fully jointed, posable white dragon, complete with its singular wing composed of soft linen stretched over the frame. She managed one laugh after she realized it released a tiny wooden firebolt if the head was tilted just so before she had to choke back tears.

“This is too good, Bofur. I don’t deserve this,” she tried to say, but the dwarf would have none of it.

Thorin tossed a long roll of heavy fabric at the foot of the bed to snap her out of it. Though his blue eyes cut into her, the weak smile at his lips eased her fears that she might receive another insult. “You deserve these gifts and more. You honored your promise. You returned Erebor to the House of Durin. Besides, you place too much blame upon yourself. No one blames you for what happened when you first entered the mountain.” 

Tirnalil shook her head, and while she still cradled the toy dragon like a precious gem, her eyes were filled with guilt. “I almost _killed_ you, I almost killed all of you. It is enough of a gift in itself that you still permit me to live amongst you. I could ask for nothing more.”

“Accept the gifts,” Dwalin grumbled, tossing onto the bedspread beside Thorin’s gift a box that thankfully came latched so it did not spill its contents when it tumbled several times before coming to a stop upside down. “Or do you dishonor us by rejecting them?”

Immediately, Tirnalil’s face paled and she hurried to pull the box and the bundle towards her. “Thank you for these, but truly, I feel-”

Balin cut her off with raised hands. “Tirnalil, you must understand that we are grateful for everything you’ve done for us, especially your sacrifice on the hill. Anything you could possibly feel guilt for has already been forgiven.”

“I nearly got myself _and_ Fili killed,” she whined low in her throat, clutching the toy dragon to her chest even more fiercely.

“Aye, you did,” Dwalin grunted.

“Aye, but you _also_ ,” Balin shoved his elbow into his brother’s side with no small amount of force, “presented a singular target for the orcs, specifically for Azog.”

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest, looking much like his nephew, eyes closing at the memory of that fateful day. “Azog the Defiler waited until you appeared to make his move. Without that pause, the elves would not have been able to save Kili from certain defeat. Nor would Dwalin and I have been able to regroup as we had to destroy that orc filth once and for all. Your presence afforded us the opportunity to end the terror of Azog and his kin. For that we are grateful. Now will you accept these gifts?”

She could not speak around the ball of emotion that had seized her throat so she settled for nodding once then undoing the leather cords tying the cloth around Thorin’s gift after finally settling aside the toy dragon. She went speechless when the cloth fell away. Spanning easily nearly the full width of the bed sat one of the blades that had tipped her tail as a dragon. Thorin had fashioned it into a two-handed great sword to better deal with the fearsome length, a dark black leather hilt decorated with shining white crystals set into the very base of the pommel and at the center of the cross guard. It did not feel so heavy in hand to be unwieldy in battle, but she hoped it would never see a day in the field, much less in the field in her hands. She’d had enough of war.

“Its partner was destroyed, but this one we retrieved from the hill after the eagle carried you to the elves,” Thorin told her, his eyes bright with pride. “Dwalin can show you how to use it better than I.”

She thanked him profusely before moving on to Dwalin’s gift. She didn’t know what to expect from the burly dwarf, but it hadn’t been what she found inside. There, nestled in the soft fabric on the inside of the chest was a delicately crafted bracelet with thin threads of white gold woven together like vines and topped with elaborately shaped ferns dotted with the brightest peridot crystals. Completely at a loss for words, she gaped at him until he blushed and backed away from the group, scratching at his nose, repeating that it was nothing difficult.

From Bombur, she received a large tray of dried meats and a tall bottle of elvish wine. Beside the wine, he’d set out an elaborately formed wine stopper done in the style of the white dragon’s head. Gloin and Oin between them gifted her a pair of gloves and a traveling cloak, both lined in white fox fur. Balin gave her a brooch made of white opal streaked with pale blues and pink framed by golden dragon’s wings. All in all, she received more than she thought she deserved.

She did not want to single any of them out as having a more desirable gift than another, but she kept finding herself drawn to the little toy dragon and could not help taking it into her arms again, stroking its finely carved head with a loving fingertip. Bofur’s smile stretched wide across his face, and she felt her spirit lighten. She looked past him to Fili and flashed him a genuine smile. He was right. She had needed to hear it from them. 

“Now get your rest before the coronation. It would mean a great deal to see you there, but do not be foolish,” Oin instructed her, patting her gently on the knee, before he followed the other dwarves out of the room.

When the last of them passed through the doorway, Fili shut the door behind them, leaning against it with a sigh before he joined Tirnalil on the bed, kicking off his boots.

“I still don’t think I deserve any of this,” she confessed, waving vaguely at the pile of gifts around them with the hand not still wrapped up with the toy dragon.

“They gave you these gifts because they saw how far you were willing to go in our defense, and they are grateful for it. I am grateful for your sacrifice, and I am grateful for Mahal’s gift, that he let you return to me,” he professed and held out his hand towards her.

A little confused, she passed him Bofur’s gift and watched him play with its limbs. When he moved it through the air like it was flying, she had to laugh.

“There we go!” he exclaimed proudly, bopping her in the nose with the dragon’s nose tip.

“What,” she huffed with a smile and snatched the dragon away, cradling it delicately.

“I could count the times I’ve heard you laugh on one hand. I hope that I get to hear it many times after this,” he whispered so earnestly Tirnalil could almost feel her heart skip a beat.

All she could do was set aside the toy dragon and curl up into his arms instead.

* * *

Fili and Kili both left their rooms early the morning of their coronation, both trusting Tauriel to manage Tirnalil in their absence. It had been a well-founded belief. As the closest thing Tirnalil had to a sister, Tauriel should have been able to persuade her not to push herself, but as Thranduil always said, a dragon’s will was its own. Not even Tauriel could dissuade Tirnalil once she had an idea in her mind. All she could do was repeat the words so that she might be able to claim that she’d tried.

“Tirnalil, you aren’t well, you ought to stay in bed for a little longer,” Tauriel pointed out, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Breathing heavily from the effort, Tirnalil had dragged herself to a chest in the corner of the room, sifting through the clothes until she came across something suitable, a rich maroon tunic with elegant gold borders in the geometric patterns favored by the dwarves and a simple pair of black leggings. It would be an improvement over the plain white linen shift dress she had worn since the beginning of the week, too weak to reach the bath by herself. Fili had been too polite to say anything, but Tirnalil knew she couldn’t have smelled pleasant. Waking in a cold sweat had not been uncommon these past few nights.

“He is going to be crowned prince and heir to Erebor. I want to be there, I should be there.”

“ _Fine_ , you can go, but you’ll work yourself to exhaustion if you won’t let me help.”

Tirnalil gave in to the she-elf, allowing herself to be led back to the bed to be dressed like a child. Tauriel, though she noticed her pouting, did not remark on it, simply carried out her work in silence. While Tauriel brushed out her hair, subconsciously Tirnalil began to twirl the bead at her wrist, eyes unfocused as she stared across the room.

“You never told me how you _fell_ for him, you know,” Tauriel teased, gently separating strands of Tirnalil’s dark hair into sections for braids. 

Tirnalil snapped out of her daze and jumped in her seat, asking the elf to repeat the question. 

“How did it happen? Kili mentioned that you first met formally at Beorn’s house beyond the woods. What happened there that caused you to grow so close while you were lost?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You don’t need to be bashful in front of me. I will tell you everything of my relationship with Kili if it would ease your fears.”

Instead of being relieved, Tirnalil lurched out of Tauriel’s reach, wincing for a moment from yanking her own hair, but quickly spun on her heel to point a finger at her sister. “Oh, no, I don’t want to hear a thing about you and Kili. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.”

“Oh, why not? Clearly it bothers you. Why are you so shy?” Tauriel watched the dragon pace in front of the fireplace a third time before she stuck out her bow and whacked Tirnalil in the back of her leg, gently enough that she didn’t fall over, but hard enough to startle her out of her self-imposed misery. “Come back here and tell me why you’re so bothered by this. I only meant to tease you.”

“It’s nothing,” Tirnalil groused, rubbing her hamstring, even after she collapsed face first into the bedspread, ruining Tauriel’s earlier attempts to tame her hair.

“Clearly not if you cannot bear to speak of it to me.” Tauriel shook her sister by the shoulder until she rolled over to face her. “Please, sister, I will never judge you. I only wish to help you.”

Tirnalil groaned and rubbed her face viciously with her hands. “I cannot be intimate with him, or any other for that matter,” she admitted after a dreadful pause, her face screwed up in frustration. 

“What do you mean? If I had a gold coin for every time I found the two of you wrapped up in each other, I might have my own fourteenth share of the treasure by now.”

“It’s different,” Tirnalil insisted and pushed herself up until her back was against the headboard, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I know that I feel safer when I’m with him, but beyond that, I have no further interest. I cannot nor will I ever be able to give him an heir.”

“No one is asking you for an heir.”

“But it will be expected of him.”

“But there is still Thorin. He can produce an heir for himself.”

Tirnalil scoffed. “Have you not seen the way he stares after Bilbo? There will be no biological heirs from Thorin. It is good I have you to count on though. You can give Kili an heir, you’ll continue the line of Durin.”

“Is this truly what plagues your mind? It is too soon to even think of heirs. Perhaps you will change your mind.”

“I won’t. You forget I’ve lived much longer than you, Tauriel. I have had plenty of time to change my mind.”

Tauriel flushed. “If that’s the case, you should tell him the truth.”

Tirnalil groaned again. “He will hate me.”

“He won’t hate you. He accepted you when you were still bound to the dragon. He can accept this too. Now come, lean on me. You need to preserve your strength if you’re going to stay awake for the entire ceremony. Kili warned me it would not be quick.”

Until they reached the main hall of Erebor where the throne sat empty, Tirnalil had not realized just how big an event the coronation would be. Every inch of the surrounding walkways seemed full to the brim with dwarves from the Iron Hills. A small section had been given to the elves, Lord Thranduil a pale beacon against the darker stone around him, Legolas still absent from his side. Galion stood with him instead, and a she-elf that Tirnalil could not name. Tauriel guided them away from the elves and closer to the throne.

Forcing their way through at last, Tirnalil was nearly bowled over by a sudden weight slamming into her legs, and only Tauriel’s arm around her shoulder kept her upright.

“Tilda!” Bard shouted from her right, softening his voice as he knelt to pull his youngest back to him. Tilda did not release her hold, rubbing her face against the fabric of her leggings instead. “I’m sorry, Tirnalil, she’s missed you, as you might tell.”

“It’s all right. Perhaps we can sit together during the ceremony. I don’t think I’m ready to stand for all of it,” Tirnalil offered, reaching down a hand to stroke Tilda’s hair.

Behind Bard, a horn blared, and all of them flinched for a moment before they realized what it meant. The ceremony was starting. 

Sigrid grabbed her father’s hand and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Da, it’s starting. Let them sit together. I don’t think Tilda’s going to be able to stand for all of it either.”

Tirnalil frowned and forced Tilda to look up at her while she knelt and raised her little chin with a finger. Indeed, the poor little thing had bags beneath her eyes that had no place to be there on a child so young. She crushed her in a tight hug, stroking her hair tenderly.

She whispered into Tilda’s ear when she pulled away, “Tilda, you mustn’t worry your father. Come, we’ll stand for the beginning, then we can sit.”

As the music continued to echo through the grand chamber, Tirnalil felt the crowd behind her part, and she clutched Tilda against her as she stepped back to make way for the procession. Thorin at the lead, then Fili, then Kili. After them came Balin, Dwalin, and King Dain, all of the house of Durin. As they passed, they kept their eyes on the throne ahead. Tirnalil’s focus remained on the only blonde among the group, watching as they moved to their positions around the throne. Thorin stood directly in front of it but on the first step beneath it, then Fili and Kili on the step below that. Balin placed himself across from Thorin, Dwalin at his back. And finally King Dain on the third step down from the throne, the last in line after the princes.

Balin turned to face the crowd, extending both arms in welcome as he bowed so deeply his beard nearly brushed the floor.

“It is a blessed day, for this day we shall mark the end of the reign of Smaug and usher in a new era of peace and prosperity. This is the day we shall crown the true King Under the Mountain, Thorin, Son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the house of Durin the Deathless,” he proclaimed when he had risen back to his full height.

Tirnalil had been so focused on trying to pick out the words of Balin’s speech that she hadn’t noticed anyone trying to get her attention until Tilda pulled at her sleeve.

She broke her stare and glanced down at Tilda, confused.

“He definitely likes you, look at him,” she whispered, holding both hands over her mouth to stop herself from giggling. It only somewhat worked. Tirnalil definitely heard it, but she could only hope the rest of the chamber had not.

When Tirnalil let her eyes roam over the figures of the royal house before the throne, she found Fili staring at her with the gentlest smile on his face, eyes half-lidded. He seemed content, like the weight of the mountain wasn’t about to be placed on his shoulders. She wished he could look so at ease for the rest of his life, that he would not have to endure the grief she already knew was coming. She smiled back and watched his smile grow.

The smile fell from her face when a wave of dizziness rushed over her.

She stumbled for a moment before Tauriel roughly caught her by the elbow before lowering her to the floor. Immediately Tilda crawled into her lap, circling tiny arms around the dragon’s waist. Panting heavily, Tirnalil leaned her weight back against Tauriel’s shins, thanking the stars for her help. Through half-lidded eyes, she sought out Fili on the steps. Kili’s hand was wrapped around his older brother’s wrist so tightly his knuckles had gone white, but it kept Fili in place and Tirnalil was grateful for it. She shut her eyes and held onto Tilda tightly as if the child might ward away the growing ache in her head.

It wasn’t fair.

She listened to Balin read a long declaration before a cheer rose up from the crowd and made her head spin. She never caught a single word beyond Thorin’s name.

Tilda’s little voice cut through the din, “Are you going to throw up?”

Tauriel caught the tail end of the question and swiftly dropped to a knee beside Tirnalil, pressing the back of her hand against Tirnalil’s forehead.

Tirnalil certainly felt like she was about to. She just wanted the noise to stop. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to come. Inhale this,” Tauriel instructed as she unstoppered a small vial and held it under Tirnalil’s nose. “If you do not feel better quickly, I will remove you to your rooms. I know you want to stay, but your health must come first.”

Hastily, Tirnalil breathed in the rich scent of lavender, letting it flood her senses. She nodded but kept her eyes screwed shut against the growing throbbing sensation behind her eyelids. The quiet that followed the first round of cheers helped to ease her symptoms, but she still found herself swallowing down her nausea.

“Have any ginger?” she croaked.

Tauriel didn’t even speak, just pressed a hard candy into Tirnalil’s hand. The dragon popped it into her mouth without a second’s thought.

“How do you have all this?” she mumbled around the candy.

“Oin gave me a kit to keep around you in case you pushed yourself too much. He is worried about you, they all are. Now, can I trust you to let me know if you need to leave? We are not even halfway through.”

“Promise,” Tirnalil mumbled around the candy.

Tilda smoothed her hair away from her damp forehead and patted her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll keep an eye on her for you, Lady Tauriel.”

Tirnalil grumbled even as Tauriel laughed and returned to her feet behind Tirnalil. “You have my thanks, Lady Tilda,” the she-elf chuckled.

She didn’t get to see it, too nauseated by the uproar to open her eyes, but she heard it when Balin declared Fili the Crown Prince. There was a moment’s pause, presumably Balin placing the circlet on Fili’s head, then another roar from the crowd. Tilda covered her ears for her so that Tirnalil did not have to relinquish her hold of the child. Tirnalil buried her face in Tilda’s hair and groaned. Everything was just too loud, she could feel her heartbeat like a thunderclap in her head, and she wanted so badly for it to stop.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tilda promised, shushing the dragon so close to tears from the pain. Tirnalil couldn’t fight her when she looked up at Tauriel with her big brown eyes. “Lady Tauriel, I think she needs to go.”

“You should stay with your father, Lady Tilda,” Tauriel suggested when she bent down to help Tirnalil to her feet.

Though Tilda scrambled off Tirnalil’s lap, she remained close, determination set into her face, and she grabbed onto one of Tirnalil’s hands, grimacing a little when she felt how clammy her palm was. “I want to stay.”

Tauriel nodded and looked over her shoulder at Bard who had torn his eyes away from the throne to watch them instead. She must have mouthed something to him because he nodded and did not try to interfere. “I will escort King Bard to retrieve you once the ceremony has finished. Follow me closely, Lady Tilda.”

Tirnalil hadn’t even noticed that they had placed themselves ahead of the rest of the Company. Eyes mostly shut, she did not linger on their expressions, torn between confusion and concern. Oin peeled away from the group and marched through the throng of dwarves gathered for the coronation at Tauriel’s side.

Gruffly he asked, “The ginger did not work?”

“No, nor did the lavender,” Tauriel answered.

The dwarf grunted and moved forward at speed, using his wider bulk to clear a path more efficiently for their passage until they had escaped out into an empty hallway. Tirnalil was vaguely aware of the little hand still wrapped up in hers, but beyond that, she simply allowed herself to be led around the mountain until she felt the backs of her knees hit a bed. She fell back with a groan and clutched her head. The bed shifted with an additional weight and Tilda curled up behind her head, petting her hair and tucking it behind her ears.

Oin tore his gloves off and onto the bedspread to take her temperature. Dissatisfied with his findings, he shook his head and turned back to Tauriel who’d since moved towards the washroom. “I will need cold water and a cloth. It’s not a fever, but a soreness of the mind. The noise must have been too much. She should not have gone down there.”

Tauriel laughed emptily, but did as instructed. She hardly needed the direction, but she recognized the helplessness on the dwarf’s face. If giving directions eased his mind, then she would endure it. Tirnalil was more beloved by her dwarves than she let on.

“Young Lady, might I ask you for a favor? I need you to fetch me that incense burner from the desk,” she heard the dwarf ask. Then there was the rustle of silks as Tilda scrambled off the bed, the scrape of metal against wood, as she pulled the burner off, then the strike and hiss of a match. “This is lavender incense, little one. It is used to calm the mind.”

When she returned to the bedside, she set the small bowl onto the nightstand and wrung out two squares of cloth, one for her and one for the dwarf. Together they worked in silence to remove the sheen of sweat that had accumulated on Tirnalil’s forehead and arms. At some point, the lavender worked too well on a certain someone and the small child slumped over unconsciously. Tauriel paused in wiping down Tirnalil’s arms to tuck Tilda under the covers beside Tirnalil.

Finally, the crease between Tirnalil’s eyebrows relaxed and she struggled to open her eyes.

Oin was quick to put a stop to it. He dropped his cloth, folded into a neat rectangle, onto her eyes to keep them shut. “None of that, Lady Tirnalil. I want you to stay here, eyes closed, for at least another half hour, do you understand?”

She groaned something unintelligible, and then groaned more loudly when Oin clapped her on the shoulder. He grimaced and muttered an apology before he headed for the door. He paused in the middle of the doorway, a hand on the frame, and looked over his shoulder at the three still at the bed. “Fili will be worried after seeing you leave so urgently, Lady Tirnalil. It will be good for his heart and mine if you would not allow yourself to reach such a point in the future. Please, you have thirteen dwarves who would be happy to assist you until you have returned to your full strength. You need only ask.”

After Oin left, Tauriel took over making sure the cloth over Tirnalil’s eyes and forehead remained cold, with instructions to send for him if she did not improve.

While there were thirteen dwarves in the Company, Tirnalil had only truly considered Balin her friend. She did not have a word for how she felt about Fili. The others were not her friends. The most time she’d ever spent with any of them on an individual basis had been when they kept watch over her in Mirkwood. They were not friends. How could she feel comfortable asking them for help?

The more she thought back on her time with the dwarves, the more memories she found of little cracks in their stony expressions. Ever since she freed them from the dungeons below Thranduil’s halls, Thorin had been kinder to her, and that seemed to have paved the way for the others.

Then they’d showered her with gifts, beautiful, wonderful, thoughtful gifts. She was suddenly overcome with gratitude for the cloth over her eyes as it soaked up the tears that leaked out. Someone smoothed her hair and Tirnalil was reminded that she wasn’t alone, and she reached up a hand blindly.

Tauriel grasped it at once and squeezed. “I am here,” she whispered, “and so is Tilda. You should both get some rest.”

“Thank you, Tauriel,” Tirnalil mumbled, finally feeling the effects of the lavender incense. “Thank you for being such a good friend.”

Tauriel did not answer, or if she did, Tirnalil had already drifted to sleep, too tired to hear it.

The she-elf gently removed her hand from Tirnalil’s grasp and placed her hand over her chest, on top of the covers. Then she stood, taking the basin with her to exchange it for cool, fresh water. When she returned to the bedside, Tirnalil had already rolled over to curl her body around Tilda’s smaller form. With a gentle smile, Tauriel replaced the discarded cloth with a new one and settled into her seat. It was;like nothing had changed at all. Here she was, under a different roof, still looking after her oldest friend.

In the end, it was not Tauriel who escorted Bard to fetch his daughter, but Fili himself once the coronation had ended, clearly both of them unwilling to stay any longer than necessary, shirking the expectation that they remain for the banquet. Tauriel bowed to them both and backed away from the bedside, taking the cloth and basin with her but leaving the stool behind. Silently, Bard stepped forward and moved around to the other side of the bed, gently peeling back the covers until he could ease Tilda away from Tirnalil, careful not to wake either of them. He lifted her into his arms, a hand on the back of her little head, and stopped before Fili again. He bowed as much as was possible while carrying a child and nodded his thanks to Tauriel before disappearing down the hall. 

“How is she?” Fili asked Tauriel quietly, afraid he might wake her, as he approached the bed. He dropped down onto the stool gracelessly and fished Tirnalil’s hand out from under the covers.

“Just a headache. She will be fully recovered on the morrow, but Oin recommended that she stay in bed for the rest of the day, to better avoid too much light or sound,” Tauriel explained, shifting the basin to rest against her hip.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Fili said and bowed his head slightly in her direction, but he could not keep his eyes off the dragon for long.

“Of course, and congratulations on your coronation, Prince Fili,” she said and started to move away.

“Please, to you, it is just Fili. You have my brother’s bead. You will be my sister soon enough,” Fili pointed out with a small smile finally tearing his eyes away from the creature in the bed.

She answered with one of her own, then swiftly depositing the basin in the adjoining washroom, left the room with another bow, leaving Fili to his thoughts.

When Tirnalil finally awoke, the first thing she noticed was the circlet nestled against Fili’s golden hair. It was made from the same white gold as the bracelet on her wrist, but while it was predominately geometric in design, the central stone, a glimmering fire opal teardrop, was framed by a pair of dragon wings. Slowly, she rolled onto her side so she faced him and, propping her head up on one hand, reached up with the other to poke at the circlet.

“You’re a real prince now,” she chuckled.

Apparently Fili had been so lost in thought reading whatever book he’d brought into bed with him that for once, he hadn’t noticed her stirring. He nearly flew out of his skin trying to fish out the knife beneath his pillow before he realized it was just Tirnalil, who was now writhing under the bed sheets to cover her laughter. With a hand over his heart, he watched her come down from her high, her eyes still crinkled at the edges from the broadness of her grin, and he thought to himself, _Mahal, I have never seen anything more beautiful_.

Let him be blessed with such a sight for many more days hereafter. He would trade all the gold in the mountain for such a blessing after the mayhem they’d already been through.

“I love you so much, Tir,” he whispered though she did not seem to hear him. 

No matter, he let her finish laughing, grateful that it seemed to lighten her spirits, before he set aside his book in favor of cradling her instead, even as she pulled the toy dragon from the nightstand to hold in her own arms. He let out a soft laugh when she made it run across her lap.

“I will have to prohibit Bofur from making you any more gifts, lest I lose you to him,” he joked.

Without turning to look at him, she reached a hand up to swat him upside the head, an effort he dodged easily, snatching her wrist instead and twining their fingers together. 

“Mm, it’s not my fault he’s good at what he does. I feel bad that I don’t find myself as drawn to the other gifts, though I did appreciate Bombur’s gift, the wine was nice, but I get these, I’m not sure what to call them, flashes of memory when I hold this one,” she confessed, toying with the dragons tiny front paws, tipped with tinier claws.

“What do you remember?” Fili asked and wrapped his arms around her, releasing her hand to go back to the dragon toy and resting his chin on top of her head.

“The faces are too blurry, but they might have been my parents. I think it was at a festival of some sort, there were strings of lights overhead and there were so many bodies around us, so much laughter, and they gave me a little toy, a tiny dragon. Its head was mounted on one stick and its tail on another, and you could move its body so that it looked like it was soaring through the sky. And then, nothing. That’s as much as I’ve been able to piece together.”

Fili sighed and rubbed her shoulders. “It must be difficult to have lost so much of your past.”

“I never thought I would remember any of it, to be honest. I don’t know if my parents were good people. I don’t know if I should miss them or be glad to be rid of them.”

“I cannot help you there. Perhaps, now that the dragon is gone, your memories will return and you’ll find your answers. Perhaps not. For what it’s worth, we are happy to be your new family no matter what comes.”’

“Thank you, Fili, for everything, I mean it,” she whimpered and turned so she could bury her face into his shirt front, after setting the dragon back on the side table.

When she pulled away, she did so with a smile despite the tears glimmering on her eyelashes, and Fili couldn’t stop himself from cupping her face in both hands, using his thumbs to wipe them away. She covered his hands with hers and ever so gently pulled them away, placing them back in his lap. Then she moved her hands up to his new circlet, gingerly tracing her fingertips over the stone in its center.

“Can I take this off?” she asked quietly, almost reverently.

The dwarf suddenly found he couldn’t speak, his mouth dry. He nodded instead.

Carefully she placed the circlet beside the dragon and began to card her fingers through his hair, her nails running over his scalp. She ran her hands through his hair multiple times, tucking the golden strands behind his ears with a featherlight touch, until finally she slowed her movements to a stop, one hand curled around his ear and the other at the back of his neck, just where it joined his shoulder. 

Their eyes met, and this time she could feel the time slow between them as their breaths mingled.

This time, she was the one who closed the distance between them.

It was only their second kiss, but by the sun and the stars, Tirnalil prayed it would not be their last if each one felt as good as this. Her hands tightened as Fili’s hands surged upwards again to tangle themselves in her hair, drawing her head back to expose her neck. He attacked her skin with purpose, nipping and suckling until he left a trail of bruises as he traced a path up toward her ear. Their lips met again in a heated crash, and Tirnalil rose up onto her knees, holding his face between her hands, as they moved together. His hands continued to roam over her, moving from her neck to her waist and back into her hair as if he couldn’t get enough.

Only at the first touch of his tongue did she finally break apart, chest heaving, eyes blown wide.

She slid her hands down to his shoulders, and leaning her forehead against her elbow, willed her breathing to even out. She could feel Fili trying to do the same across from her. 

He recovered much faster, gently easing her hands from his shoulders and resting their entwined hands in the space between them.

“Let me say something before you apologize,” he started, clearly having seen her intent in her eyes. “It’s okay if you’re not ready for more. We’ll move forward together at whatever pace you’re comfortable with. It’s okay, Tir, we have all the time in the world.”

Her eyes dropped to the bedspread at his words, and she didn’t have the heart in that moment to contradict him. Instead, all she could do was close the distance between them by throwing herself into his arms. Let him believe that she was merely grateful for his understanding, because truthfully she was. Let her hold onto his faith that they had forever ahead of them.

Even when he gently lowered the pair of them, still entangled, to the bedsheets and pulled the covers over them, Tirnalil could not speak. Even as Fili himself drifted off to sleep while stroking her hair, she could not find it within herself to tell him the truth. Even after he started to snore, she could only laugh to herself and roll the other way. The truth sounded like a problem for future Tirnalil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is NOT at all how I anticipated this chapter ending, and I hope I didn't screw it up too badly. I also said it would be shorter than the others, more of a filler, and that didn't happen. LOL.
> 
> I hope you liked it and stick around to see this thing through to the end. As always, leave a kudos or a comment, either one is so so so appreciated!
> 
> I'm really bad at remembering to include translations:  
> Kurkarukê - my tiny raven  
> Mahazralizu 'uglakh - I wish you all the best  
> ‘ibinê - my gem  
> Mukhuh mabaddakhi ya bunmû Maha - May we meet again with the grace of Mahal (not in this chapter but definitely used this line before)


	10. Chapter 9a

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fading and the Courting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the summary is what I have it titled as in my notes.... Sorry, guys.
> 
> Also, I'm still shook at over 400 hits!
> 
> I did it again though, I had to split this into two chapter, so please enjoy the rising chapter total.

Clarity of the mind came infrequently to Tirnalil in the days following the end of the battle. She’d been doing marginally better for a time, but some days she struggled to remember the smallest things, like where she was or where she’d been going. At least the vertigo had stopped being an issue. Oin still hadn’t given her the all clear to explore the mountain by herself, too afraid of losing her over some dark walkway, but true to his word, she’d found no shortage of assistance finding someone to take her to the ramparts or to the front gate to get a breath of fresh air. She had been certain she’d just followed Bifur or Nori, or maybe it was quiet little Ori today, out to the ramparts to watch the clouds. Tauriel had said something about the weather being clear for the next few days.

Distantly she remembered telling someone about the various shapes she’d spotted moving across the sky overhead and then the memory faded into a blur the color of stone. She tried to reach out to them, the clouds or her companion, she didn’t know, but her arm was too heavy at her side and she drifted back into sleep.

Then, the next time consciousness found her, there was darkness save for a lone candlestick burning across the room and the dying embers in a fireplace. Glancing around her, she gathered enough to understand that she’d been taken into the mountain. Just strong enough to stretch one arm to her right, she felt a slight dip in the mattress, but the space felt cold to the touch. It was a fight against the dizziness in her head and the aches in every muscle, but at long last, she raised herself so her back rested against the headboard. Now that she had a better position to look about the room, she searched for something familiar that she could latch onto.

She found it in the figure slumped over in the chair before the fireplace where the flame had been reduced to a pile of dimly glowing coals. Fili.

“Fili,” she murmured, then cleared her throat when her voice failed to reach the dwarf. She tried again more loudly. “Fili.”

He heard her on the fifth repetition of his name, startling awake in such a jumble of limbs that Tirnalil nearly regretted waking him at all. But she could not shake the exhaustion from her bones. There were things she needed to say before she forgot them again. There were things Fili had to know.

The second Fili realized she was awake, he rushed to the bedside, covering her right hand with both of his. His eyes watered up with tears as he smiled down at her, and Tirnalil had to look away before she broke down. She squeezed her hand in his and let her head fall against his shoulder.

Carefully freeing his left hand, Fili curled his arm around her and shifted his legs onto the bed beside her, pulling her against his chest. He felt like a furnace against her back, but where before it was a comforting warmth, Tirnalil felt it like a burning brand. Tears pricked at the corners of her ears, and she shakily sucked in a breath to hold them back. 

“What is it, Tir? Are you still having nightmares?” he asked, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. 

She shook her head. “It’s not nightmares, not this time. Fili, you asked me if I would accept your courtship,” she started, but her voice faltered, falling away into silence.

“Do you no longer wish to?” he asked, voice breaking, though he did not release his hold around her. 

“I want nothing more than to be able to accept it, but I am afraid it would be a mistake,” she whispered and pulled her hand away from him so that she could wipe away her tears with her sleeve. “Please do not take offense, Fili, but whatever this is between us, I do not know if it is love. You were kind to me when I needed it most, and I am beyond grateful for everything you’ve done for me, what you still do for me, believe me, but I could not bear it if the only thing that binds us is the trauma of this quest.”

“I know how I feel for you, Tirnalil, but I would a hundred years for you if that is what you needed. This is what courtship is about. I will show you my heart and you will show me yours. I have already given you my bead, and I would not have it back for any reason except by your honest declaration that you felt nothing for me.”

“I just need time. Please.”

“Go to Balin. He will answer any questions you have on this matter or any other pertaining to our culture. Just know this, Tirnalil, I will wait as long as you wish, but my feelings for you will never change.”

She pressed her forehead against his, the way he often did, sending a silent prayer up to the heavens. _Whatever may come, let him find happiness when I am gone_.

Fili had suggested she start her search in the library. By some small mercy, Smaug had had little use for books and never ventured far from his treasure hoard in the past sixty years. The large collection had survived dragonfire and decades of misuse, but not all had survived the bugs that had gone unchecked. Balin had most likely taken up the task himself, or assigned it to Ori, but Fili doubted the elder of the two could release from his grasp some of the older, more valuable pieces. Besides, Ori’s grasp of ancient Khuzdul was not so strong, and Balin could not allow a mistranslation to persist if it was within his power.

Although the library was blocked off by what looked like a pair of immense wooden doors, as she drew up closer to its entrance, she realized a much smaller set had been cut into its base. With a sigh of relief, she turned the handle and squeezed through the small gap, shutting the door quietly behind her. Thankfully, she’d been to the library often enough and it was the simplest pathway to follow that she could make the trip herself without feeling the need to flag down any of the dwarves she ran into for assistance. What Oin didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, yes?

Her nose burned with the urge to sneeze. A thick layer of dust had settled over shelves that stretched all the way up to the ceiling of the tall chamber that seemed almost to extend upwards forever. On either side and at intervals in between, brass ladders sat on rails, leading up to a walkway that encircled the chamber halfway up where a second set of ladders had been installed. In the center of the vast room, a single raised desk surrounded by long, curved tables and benches. She could not see the figure at the desk behind the massive stack of books piled in front of them, but she could hear the scratch of a quill across parchment.

She approached on nervous feet and paused beside the desk, peering upwards at the dwarf there. He seemed wholly engrossed in his work. She coughed into a fist, but he did not even blink as he continued to write, his other hand flipping the pages of the book to his left.

“Balin, can I ask you something?” she tried again, more loudly than she’d coughed.

“Tirnalil! You startled me!” the old dwarf sputtered and righted his inkwell, frowning at the ruined pages beneath the rapidly spreading ink. “Ask away.”

“Fili has asked to begin courting me. I would like to know if there is anything required from me.”

Balin smiled like a proud old grandfather, and Tirnalil felt herself flush. “Ah, this news brings gladness to my heart. I understand he’s already given you his bead, although the circumstances of the exchange were, _hmm_ , perhaps a bit unusual per our customs. Have you exchanged a bead in return? This would be considered acceptance of his intentions and your position as consort and he as suitor.”

She shook her head and scratched the back of her neck. “No, I have given him nothing yet. I didn’t want to go too far without knowing what I was doing. That is why I came to you.”

“Very well then. Should you choose to accept the Crown Prince’s courtship, you would exchange a bead with him. Once you both have the other’s bead braided into your hair, the declaration will be considered public and you will be, for lack of a better term, off the market and become beholden to the rules of dwarven courtship. You could take nothing from him without his consent, and vice versa. Trust is paramount to us and the very foundation of all relationships among dwarves. If Fili wrongs you, it would fall to your kin to determine his punishment, and to King Thorin if you should harm Fili.”

“I would never,” Tirnalil gasped.

“I know, but it must be said. I do not wish for you to enter such a binding ritual without proper knowledge. Fili understands all the nuances, having been raised for such things, but you have not. You should also know that it is paramount that you set boundaries at this time. He should always ask for your consent in new things so that he does not overstep.”

“Like what?”

Balin appeared sheepish for a moment. “Most commonly, the matter of sharing beds would not be broached until after marriage, but you two have always been rather close. It is unusual amongst dwarves, but you have been sick for many months, and it could be excused given the circumstances. However, you must make your boundaries clear if you would like it to change.”

Tirnalil blushed and scratched her nose absently. “I sleep better with him near. I have never minded it. What happens after we exchange beads?”

“You would ask him to provide for you. Typically this involves the suitor going on a hunt, and depending on what he brings before you, you could decide whether to end the courtship there or continue to the next step. I doubt Fili would fail at this stage.”

“Why would dwarves normally fail at such a stage?”

Balin folded his arms across his chest and shook his head laughing from deep in his belly. He wiped a stray tear from his eye and took a deep breath before he told his story, “I once knew a lad who was rejected because he brought down a large boar with fearsome tusks when his consort had asked for a stag. The boar’s meat smelled so strongly that when cooked, few could remain in the halls for days afterward. His consort called off the courtship immediately.”

Tirnalil grimaced and hid her mouth behind a hand just imagining it. “And if he succeeds, what comes next?”

“Next, he must also prove that he has placed his trust in you. Should you accept this display of trust, the suitor must produce a gift that captures the depth of his love for you. If you accept this gift, there is only one true hurdle remaining: a formal meeting between both families to discuss the merits of the marriage between you. If both sides have agreed to the union, then it is the consort’s turn to provide the suitor with a gift made by their own hands. You would have two months to make this gift, during which time the suitor’s family prepares for the wedding, though you may present it at any time prior to the date of the wedding once it’s been set, but historically, most often it’s presented as a part of the wedding ceremony before the, well, before the groom kisses the bride.”

Tirnalil puzzled over the idea of what she might be able to give Fili as a gift, but the perfect idea sprang to mind before long. The only problem was that she could not possibly craft it herself. As a dragon sequestered away in the Hidden Valley, she had never learned to build anything. The most she’d ever done was pick up embroidery as a hobby to relax her mind, and Fili would have little use for an embroidered pillowcase. No, while the gift she had in mind would not be something she could wrap up with a bow, she had faith that it would be something he would need and would hopefully appreciate. Perhaps he would be able to look past the fact that she would not be able to claim she’d built it herself.

Balin cleared his throat, interrupting her train of thought. “There is something else you must understand, Tirnalil. Above all else, the suitor is expected to defend and protect his consort at all costs, by life or by limb. If any harm comes to the consort, the suitor will lose the favor of his peers and his people.”

She watched his expression carefully, letting her eyes roam over his face. While he seemed solemn, there was also a crease between his brows, his head tilted up so he peered down at her, head slightly tilted to the side. His eyes were filled with questions that begged an answer.

“I don’t know what you mean, Balin,” she feigned innocence.

The old dwarf simply sighed and clasped his hands behind his back as he approached her, leaning his head towards her once he’d come to stand beside her. “I mean that if anything were to happen to you, Fili would lose the favor of our people. That is, unless you gave him your pardon.”

“Balin, what are you insinuating?”

“I may be getting on in years, Tirnalil, but my vision has not yet left me.” He sighed again. “I have kept an eye on you since the elves carried you into the mountain. I saw it in the way that Lord Thranduil could not bear to look at you before you had even passed through the gates of Erebor. I have also seen the way you look at the Crown Prince. As close as the two of you have become since you joined the company, I would expect such a request of courtship to bring you joy. Yet, when I look at you, all I can see is an overwhelming sadness. If you do not wish to marry, then I ask you to be honest with him. Dwarves only love once, and he is young. He has a long life ahead of him.”

Tirnalil’s eyes welled up with tears, and Balin hastily pulled her into a hug, pressing her face into the front of his red coat before she started crying in earnest. She balled her hands into fists around the fabric and wailed until her throat burned. He alternated between patting her back and stroking her hair, all the while shushing her like a frightened child.

“Shh, Tirnalil, I only ask because he is my Prince. I have long considered you a friend, and I wish you all the best for everything you’ve done for us. But please, do not break his heart.”

“I am afraid there is no way for this to end without breaking him,” Tirnalil whimpered, finally pulling herself away from the old dwarf. She roughly wiped away the tears from her puffy eyes, lower lip quivering as she very obviously struggled to rein back her emotions. “Balin, if I tell you something, I need you to keep it in confidence. You cannot speak of this to anyone, not even your King. If I tell you this, perhaps you can understand my dilemma.”

“You have my solemn word, Tirnalil.”

Then she revealed all that she knew of her condition, her failing health, that she could not promise how long she had left, but that it would pale in comparison to the many years Fili would spend alone. Through it all, Balin did not change his expression. He remained ever the concerned grandfather right to the very end when he nodded and thanked her for her honesty. A single tear ran down his cheek and he did not try to brush it away. He sucked in a shaky breath and forced it back out just as shakily, clapping his hands against his knees.

“The cornerstone of a bond between dwarves is trust. You must tell Fili all that you have told me before you can move forward. For what it’s worth, Tirnalil, I do believe the both of you will find more comfort in sharing whatever time you have left than to part ways now. It will hurt when you are gone, but you will have made memories together for him to hold onto when his heart grows heavy with grief. And Fili will still have us. But you must promise me that you’ll tell him the truth. He deserves to know.”

* * *

While Tirnalil had wandered off to find Balin, Fili hastily left in search of his brother.

He found him by the stables where they kept a small number of ponies, on loan from Dale until they could restart their breeding program for their own, hardier ponies and war goats. Tauriel was with him because of course she was. Just as Fili could hardly be found away from Tirnalil, Kili was not typically far from the she-elf, though perhaps in Tauriel’s case it was just as likely because she was still not well-liked by the rest of the dwarves inside the mountain just yet. Breathless from his rush to find him, Fili seated himself on a nearby bale of straw bedding to catch his breath before he interrupted the little whisper session that was happening behind the stall door

“Brother! Brother, I need your help,” he begged once he caught himself enough to get the words out in a single rush, banging his fist against the wood.

Immediately Tauriel’s and Kili’s heads snapped up like two deer startled in the woods, and Fili had to smother his laugh behind a hand, for their eyes were just as wide with fright.

“Yes, um, with what? Your _Mamahmarlûna_ doesn’t want to continue courting you?” Kili joked with a snort, coming out from behind the stall door to sit beside his brother. Tauriel remained behind awkwardly, crossing her arms and resting them over the edge of the door.

“Yes, exactly, but no, I don’t know, and that’s the thing, and also she’s not my _Mamahmarlûna_. We haven’t,” Fili groaned, rubbing his face with both hands, “it doesn’t matter.”

Kili’s expression sobered, and immediately he brought his hands in front of him nervously. He hadn’t meant to assume, but well, when they were so close the way that they’d been, it had been hard to assume otherwise.

“This sounds like something I shouldn’t be a part of,” Tauriel muttered and with a peck to Kili’s cheek, sauntered out of the stables, her bow and quiver haphazardly slung over one shoulder, red hair swaying side to side with every step. Kili couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

Finally, several moments after Tauriel disappeared from sight, Kili at last turned to his brother with a sheepish look. He kicked out his legs dramatically and leaned his weight against his arms stretched out behind him, trying to play it off coolly. “Anyway, how is it going with Tirnalil?”

Fili rubbed his face again with a heavy sigh before yanking at his hair. “I don’t know. She has good days and bad days. She forgets things on her bad days. We had a good day, the day of the coronation, in spite of what happened during the ceremony. We kissed, brother, and Durin’s beard, it was like nothing I’d ever felt before.”

Kili punched him in the arm, grinning wildly. “Yes, that’s how we Durin’s do it!”

Fili could only shake his head sorrowfully. “Except, she had a bad day the next day. I don’t think she remembers any of it. Then, today, she asks me if she’s making a mistake. I’d had the best kiss I’d ever had, and she not only forgets it, she thinks this whole courtship is a _mistake_ . The worst part is, the _worst_ part, is that I’m scared she may be right.”

The next time Kili punched him, he didn’t hold back. His fist landed squarely against his brother’s ear, and he didn’t even flinch when the force sent him sprawling across the dirt aisle. Groaning and moaning, Fili forced himself to sit up, one hand still clutching at his still ringing ear.

“What in Durin’s beard was that for?” he growled.

“Don’t ever let me or Tauriel hear you doubt yourself again. The two of you were meant for each other, how could you doubt that? She’s your _One_ , Fi.”

“But what if she’s right? At least elves have Ones, they can feel the connection too. You and Tauriel know you’re meant for each other in a way that we can’t, _I_ can’t. What if I only feel like this because of everything that’s happened?”

“It’s precisely because of everything that’s happened that I know you two belong to each other,” Kili argued, but he still stuck out a hand to help his brother up from the ground.

“But would I feel the same if we’d met under different circumstances? If she hadn’t had to sacrifice herself for me, would I still feel like this?”

“Yes, you idiot. If you’d seen yourself when you crashed into each other at the skinchanger’s house, you would not doubt yourself now.”

“Then why does she doubt?”

“Perhaps it is the sickness. Perhaps she wishes to spare your feelings. Whatever it is, I do not think it is for a lack of love for you.” The corners of Kili’s lips lifted for a quick moment before they fell again. He clapped his brother on the shoulder, then spun him round, marching him out of the stables. “If she continues to forget things, it’s up to you to make her remember. She is your One, and you are hers. You can’t fight it.”

The climb back upstairs to his chambers was made all the more difficult for the lead that bound his feet and hung from his shoulders. Fili felt as though he was drowning in questions that lay unanswered.

When he reached his rooms, with a dejected sigh, he found he was the first to return. Tirnalil knew the way to the library and back well enough that he didn’t linger on the thought of sending someone down to fetch her. Instead, he set about pulling pages of parchment from the drawer in the desk and finally penning a response to send back to his mother. While he pushed back his sleeves out of habit to keep from staining them with ink, cracking his neck absently, he spotted the little journal that Ori had given her out of the corner of his eye, balanced precariously on the top right corner of the desk. A smile tugged at his lips at the extra pages that had already been crammed into it, the thin leather strap struggling to keep them all together.

Then it hit him.

She had to know she was losing time, that she was missing pieces. All the nights between their second kiss up until now, he could only recall a few where he had not returned from dinner to find her at the desk, hastily writing something down. But they’d never brought up that second kiss again after it happened, and now that he thought about it, he couldn’t quite pinpoint when the writing had started. Was it the loss of that memory that sparked the journaling? Or some other loss? Or perhaps he was off the mark entirely.

He still hadn’t written a single line on the page before him when a knock came at the door, followed by the shuffling of feet as Tirnalil came inside.

“Were you able to find Balin,” Fili asked when Tirnalil shut the door behind her, toeing off her slippers and immediately crawling under the sheets. He half-turned in his seat at the desk in the corner to raise an eyebrow at her and gave up all pretense of writing to his mother. “Did he bore you to exhaustion, _Bunnanunê_? I am no stranger to the feeling.”

Tirnalil shook her head beneath the covers before popping her head back out, staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. Oh, gods, she did not want to speak of her mortality again. Just the thought brought tears back to her eyes, and she beat her fists against the sheets as they dripped down the sides of her face. She hated this feeling, being so helpless, so scared, and frustrated that she didn’t know more, that no matter what, she could not protect Fili from hurt. She had fought a dragon, for Aulë’s sake, and this was her reward?

“What is it?” Fili rushed to her side at once, kneeling by the bed. He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, but there was no fever. “What’s upsetting you?”

“Fili, you have to know something,” she murmured, still resolutely staring at the ceiling as if she might will it to collapse and end her misery. “I cannot allow us to continue until you know the full truth.”

“What is it, _Mamamshul-‘ibinê_?” he repeated softly, fearful that she had already made her choice, that their courtship was a mistake.

“Fili, it’s time you knew of everything that happened at Ravenhill and the deal I made. I was selfish, Fili,” Tirnalil sobbed openly and covered her eyes with both hands like it would stop the flood of tears. “I was so selfish, and I won’t ask you to forgive me. I just need you to understand.”

Shushing her urgently, he climbed onto the bed and gently scooted her over until he could hold her against his chest. He forced her hands away from her face and used a hand on the back of her head to guide her face to his neck. He didn’t pull away until she wound her arms around his waist. Only then did he settle his hands at her hips. “You already have my forgiveness, Tir, there is nothing you could do that I could not forgive.”

She shook her head fiercely but didn’t try to back out of his hold. “No, let me speak first before you say those things. You have to know that I- I cannot love you the way you deserve. You need to understand what’s at stake before we go too far with this...courting business...thing.”

“I stand by what I said, but I am listening.”

“At Ravenhill, I died, I’m sure of it. I saw Aulë and Yavanna, they came to me and told me that I’d broken the curse, but I was dying. They offered me immortality, Fili, but I chose a mortal life. I chose a mortal life because I could not bear it if I had to watch you die. I could not bear the same suffering that I have now placed at your feet.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I have lived longer than any of my people could hope to live, due to my connection to the dragon, but now that I have severed it, I do not know how much longer I have left. Aulë gave me a second chance at life, but he could not grant me more time.”

Fili laughed, his voice cracking with tears of relief. “Bless you, Tir. Welcome to the conundrum of mortality. No one can predict their own death. All we can do is rejoice for the day before us.”

“You don’t understand, FIli,” she whined, grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes. Desperately she wished that she could just stop crying. She forced herself to back away from Fili, shifting across the bed to sit up with her back to the headboard until she faced him with a frown. “When I spoke to Aulë, he spoke only of weeks or months. He made no mention of years.”

Slowly, the gravity of her words seemed to hit him. Fili’s weight shifted so he leaned back against his hands, his jaw dropping as he took it in. He blinked once, then a second time, then again until Tirnalil realized he was trying to blink back tears.

“Do you understand now?” she asked, voice quiet. Her tears had slowed, and she chewed her bottom lip so that she might continue to keep them back. She did not meet his searching gaze, even when he reached out a hand to caress her cheek, though she leaned into the touch.

“I do,” Fili whispered brokenly. “I do, Tir, I do, but this changes nothing.”

Tirnalil’s eyes snapped open and she locked eyes with him. Through the haze of tears, her near constant companions, she drank into the warmth and love she found in his eyes. His smile did not quite reach his eyes, it hardly even raised the corners of his lips, but he was trying.

“Tirnalil, for whatever time we have left, I would spend it getting to know you better. Whether it is two weeks or two months, I would rather spend every last moment showing you how much I care for you. When the time comes, I will not be alone in my grief. I will take comfort in our friends and in the memories we’ve made. Do you value yourself so little that you would even think I would choose to do differently? Did you think so little of me that I would forsake you now and leave you to suffer? You have suffered long enough by yourself. I would never ask you to endure that pain again.”

“But you are so _young_ ,” she stressed. A shaky hand found its way to his chin, then his cheek, tenderly stroking the hair of his beard. “You would spend whole lifetimes alone. You would never love another.”

“I will not be alone. As long as Mahal keeps us in his blessings, I will still have my family and friends. I will not be lacking for love, though I will miss you fiercely when the time comes.”

Having recovered from the initial shock, Fili righted himself and reached out a hand for Tirnalil. When she accepted it, he threaded their fingers together and brought their hands over his heart. 

“Do you feel how my heart beats for you, Tir? I have felt it for a long time, but it took fighting against the dragon to confirm my suspicions. You are my _One_ , Tirnalil. I could never love another. As long as you will have me, I will not end our courtship. We will see it through. We’ve survived worse, haven’t we? Let’s enjoy the now and worry about the rest later.”

Tirnalil smiled, but it was weak. While Fili hugged her, his face was buried in her neck, and he could not see her blink away the tears. Fili was right. All she could do was be happy for the time she had. Even if she could feel herself fading even now. She hugged him back and forced herself to cast out the thought that she might never live to see Fili inherit Erebor from his uncle.

The silence lasted between them for several hours until the fire in the hearth died down, and Fili finally had to separate himself from his One to relight it. When he returned to the bed, Tirnalil immediately slotted herself against his side, tucking her head under his chin. He could feel the force of her exhale as she relaxed in his arms, and he couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face. How could he have ever doubted himself? This, this feeling, this was love. Whatever Mahal had planned for them, he would meet it knowing he had never left Tirnalil to suffer alone.

After spending so many nights together, he knew the difference between a sleeping dragon and one merely feigning sleep.

Quietly he asked the one question he needed to have answered, “Tir, have you ever felt like you were losing time? Like there were things you couldn’t remember?”

She didn’t have to answer with words to confirm what he’d already suspected. He could feel it in the way she shivered and buried her face into his shirt, her tears leaking into the fibers.

“Tir, it’s okay if you don’t remember things. I want you to be comfortable telling me if you’ve forgotten something, and I want you to trust that I will never lie to you. If there is any way that I can help you, I will do it. I said I wouldn’t let you suffer alone, and I mean it,” he swore, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

“Thank you, Fili,” she whimpered, squeezing him tightly. “I just need this right now. We can talk more tomorrow. Today has been too much for me.”

“Do you want to write before you go to sleep?”

She groaned and slowly, almost reluctantly, peeled herself away from him. Squeezing his hand one final time before she shuffled over to the side of the bed and swung her legs to the floor. “Wanting and needing are two different things,” she griped, but she managed to drag herself over to the desk, pulling down Ori’s journal with one hand while using the other to clear away the mess he’d left. On second thought, she picked up the blank pages and glanced over her shoulder at Fili. “Were you going to use these?”

“No, you go ahead,” he assured her. Drawing a knee up to his chest, he rested his arm over his kneecap, fondly gazing at his One as she scratched the back of her neck, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “How much do you have to write down to remember it?”

“It depends,” she murmured, finally deciding on a starting point, the tip of the quill scratching against the parchment. “There are good days, then bad days, but sometimes the bad days have good moments. If I can remember the emotion, I can remember more of it with less writing to jumpstart the memory. I wish I knew if it would get better or worse. After your coronation, I remember feeling so happy, but I can’t remember much else beyond that. You know, I thought I kept getting lost, and that’s why I always had this vague feeling of confusion. By the time I realized I was experiencing memory loss, it had been too long. I couldn’t piece it together. You dwarves rely too much on your stone sense and not enough logic when it comes to city planning.”

The soft smile Fili had been wearing since she started writing slowly fell from his face, his mouth suddenly quite dry. He thought back to his conversation with his brother. _If she continues to forget things, it’s up to you to make her remember._

Carefully, he slid off the bed and padded his way over gingerly until he knelt at her side, one hand on the back of her chair and the other beside hers atop the desk. Ever so slowly, his fingertips crept across the desk until his hand covered hers and returned the quill to the inkwell, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His heart stopped beating when gold met tourmaline. At their current angle, her eyes caught the firelight just right, turning her normally dark chocolate, nearly black eyes, to throw shades of bronze and green all at once.

His confidence wavered, but it surged up again when he felt her fingers slot into place with his.

“Do you want to remember,” he asked, voice hushed, nervous, even as he inched closer towards her, the hand on the back of the chair migrating into her hair, curling around the back of her head.

He could feel her breaths against his lips, soft and tremulous, even as his eyes remained locked with hers. He scanned the earthy depths for any sign of encouragement where there was nothing but confusion, perhaps tinged with a little fear. Her eyebrows pulled together, and he expected to hear her rejection next, as the hand that had been intertwined with his was suddenly ripped away. His heart beat a loud rhythm in his ears, but the breaths he’d felt against his lips before paled in comparison to the sweet, chaste press of her pillowy soft lips.

That was his only warning before he was knocked onto his back by the sudden force of Tirnalil closing the distance between them. Even if she’d forgotten the last kiss, she’d still initiated this one as well. Some things didn’t change.

As he recovered from his shock, his hands found their way first to her waist, snaking up her back until he wound his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, tugging lightly. One of her slender hands tugged at one of his braids in return even as another slid inside his shirt. 

She broke away just long enough to press her forehead against his, eyes shut, and breathed out, “You’re so _warm_.”

Tirnalil didn’t even wait for a response, she swallowed it down, her lips crashing against his like the waves against the rocky shore of the Long Lake.

Below her, Fili could only helplessly be carried along by the force of nature that was his One. With some maneuvering of his hips that caused her breath to hitch in the most delicious way, he couldn’t stop himself from biting at her lower lip before he hooked a leg over hers and flipped them over. He pillowed her head from slamming into the floor with the hand still caught up in her dark tresses. Just as she’d swallowed his words before, he smothered her surprised gasp at the sudden change in position.

Her hands had fallen away from his hair in shock, but they found a new destination, snaking under his shirt where it hung loosely, fingers gliding over the tight muscles of his abdomen, her hands a gentle caress even as their lips were anything but. Fili abandoned her lips, instead pressing a line of kisses along the exposed line of her neck as she arched up into him after he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and bit down. A whine escaped her throat, reminiscent of the soft chirps and trills of the dragon on the rare nights that fireflies danced about the forest.

Breathless, Fili pulled back, propping himself up with both hands on either side of her head. Tirnalil never stopped her roaming hands, only pausing when he pulled away, one hand over his heart while the other was wrapped around his upper arm. He came down again briefly to press a light kiss on her lips, withdrawing before she could attempt to deepen it. 

“Do you remember now?” he asked.

She shook her head minutely and slipped her hand back out of his shirt only to seize the fabric in both fists, pulling herself up to him instead. Chest heaving, eyes alight with the same fear as before but with a burning passion behind them, she admitted, “I don’t, but I don’t want to forget this too. Don’t let me forget this.”

“I will make it so you can’t forget,” he promised and attacked her neck with renewed ardor.

* * *

Indeed, Fili had made it so that their actions would be both impossible to forget and impossible to hide. They hadn’t gone anything farther, only slowing their kisses when exhaustion finally started to win over their sudden mutual bursts of courage. Eventually, they’d moved to the bed, and with a face redder than the fire itself, Tirnalil had asked Fili if he would sleep without his shirt. She hardly moved during the night from where she’d draped one arm across his waist and tucked herself under his arm and against his side. Gently, he brushed her hair away from her neck to admire the reddish purple bruises he’d left her. Hopefully it would be enough. He didn’t think his heart would be able to take it if she lost this precious memory too, nevermind how his heart would take it if she forgot too much to keep up with what courtship demanded of them both.

He had given the phases of their courtship several weeks of thought as they had made their final approach upon the mountain. For many days he could think of little else, for indeed, only thoughts of the future drove him onwards in the face of almost inevitable death by dragonfire. Many a long night he’d spent awake, feigning sleep so as not to scare his brother, mulling over how he might approach a courtship with the dragon. Dwarves, while they did not disparage relations between those of the same sex, they spoke less of relations between dwarves and hobbits and put a stop to all talk of dalliances between dwarf and elf. To consider a bond between dragon and dwarf though? Complete blasphemy against their culture!

And yet, it was all he could think of during all those lonely nights in the dungeons of Mirkwood. He’d given her his bead and his heart, though she did not understand things then.

His heart weighed heavy in his chest with the new knowledge Tirnalil had left him the night before. Truth be told, since Tirnalil had accepted that she was his One, he could feel it too, the weakening of her tether to Middle Earth. If he only felt a fraction of it, his heart lurched at the thought of how Tirnalil endured it. He’d felt something similar before when Kili had fallen so ill that he’d been bedridden for weeks as a young dwarfling. Kili had nearly died from an infection following a bad judgment call against a wild boar in the woods on the outskirts of their settlement at the Blue Mountains, and Fili would never forget the way his heart felt empty, like a piece of it was fading away.

The same feeling plagued him now. He could feel her fading. Where Kili had gotten better though, Tirnalil never would.

He slipped out from under the covers, gently tucking them back around Tirnalil, as he entered the bathroom. Once he shut the door behind him, he slammed his fist against the marbled walls until his knuckles bled.

It wasn’t fair. They’d survived so much together. Tirnalil had rushed to their defense at Ravenhill at the cost of her own life, and this was the thanks she got? It wasn’t fair. She deserved better, she deserved more. Surely, her sacrifice warranted more time. It wasn’t fair.

Finally, the flow of tears stopped and he splashed his face with ice cold water to reduce the blotchiness on his cheeks. Breathing deeply, he drained the water from the basin of the sink, watching the pink trails circle down the drain. Beneath the counter he retrieved a small pouch and wrapped his knuckles with the strips of white linen inside to staunch the bleeding. He’d planned on forging a bead more fitting for Tirnalil today, but those plans would have to wait.

Instead, he knelt behind the door and clasped his hands together in prayer. If Mahal was listening, then perhaps he might be convinced to give them a little more time. He had nothing to lose by trying.

When Fili reemerged from the bathroom, Tirnalil had disappeared from the bed. A sweeping glance about the room found her seated before the fire, a thin, woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

“We’ve done things out of order, haven’t we?” she asked when she found him staring at her fondly.

He cocked his head to the side while he made his way over, pulling over the chair from the desk and spinning it round so he could straddle it and rest his arms across its back. “What do you mean? Do you remember what we did last night?”

She nodded, and with a hopeful expression, continued, “We’ve already exchanged beads, or well, you gave me a bead, but perhaps it’s time you braid it into my hair, though I have nothing to give you in exchange. I hope I’m doing this right. I do not wish to discredit you amongst your people.”

Fili laughed, and finally that brought a smile to her face. “Do not worry. I will teach you to make your own in time, but for now, I _can_ show you how to make a proper braid.”

However, when Fili attempted to pick up a comb from the vanity, it pulled up the edge of his sleeve, and Tirnalil instantly noticed the bandages he’d tried to keep hidden. With dizzying speed, she cast off the blanket and rushed to his side, lifting his hand and tracing her fingertips over his bandaged knuckles. The white linen was already spotted with the first bits of red seeping from underneath.

She whispered his name urgently, then with more force, punching him in the chest so hard he was forced to step back to keep his balance. “What were you thinking? How are you supposed to teach me to braid like this?”

“Poorly, I expect,” he tried to joke, but she punched him again, this time in the uninjured arm.

As soon as Tirnalil no longer looked liable to beat him again, he snatched up the comb and, placing his injured hand at her back, gently guided her to the chair.

She sighed and settled in after refitting herself with her makeshift blanket coat. “I know it’s frustrating, but punching walls doesn’t help. I’m sure I didn’t fool Oin when I told him I got into a fight and that’s why my hand needed bandaging.”

Fili chuckled but continued to brush Tirnalil’s hair until the teeth of the comb glided through her dark locks with ease. Then he isolated a small section behind her right ear, moving over the bulk of her hair over her left shoulder. He manipulated the strands until he had a good four-inch section, then he paused and cracked his neck.

“A part of me will be sad not to find my bead upon your wrist, but perhaps that will be my second gift to you, a bracelet. Your wrist, if you please,” he asked, making a grand show of bowing and extending out his hand to her. 

As Tirnalil placed her hand in his, the light catching the bead woven into the rope, she asked, “Do you even have a knife to cut it? It’s of elvish make, it won’t cut too easily.”

With a haughty wink, Fili extracted a knife from what felt like thin air, intricately shaped like a raven’s claw, the edge flashing in the light of the fire. The rope fell away in an instant, and Fili caught the bead as it slipped free.

“Of course you have a knife. Do you still sleep armed?” She questioned him incredulously, resisting his efforts to turn her head away from him so he could continue his work. 

“Not quite so heavily now, but it is a difficult habit to break. Plus, I’m the Crown Prince, you know.”

A yes then.

Satisfied with his answer, she finally looked ahead, and Fili made short work of tying off the braid once the bead was secured in place. He gave her hair a final cursory run through with the comb, before he patted her shoulders and stood up. “All done. Now all in the mountain shall know that we are courting.”

Tirnalil leaned her head back and smiled up at him softly. “Is there anything I could give to you?”

“Until you make one with your own hands, we can settle for moving the partner to yours to the same position in my hair. The reading will be the same, though it will be best if we forge our own specific courtship beads before long.”

Deftly, Fili undid one of his braids, dropping a bead identical to hers into her palm without bothering to undo the beginning twists of the braid. They traded seats and Tirnalil accepted the comb from him with both hands and a mock curtsy. As she combed his hair, careful not to disturb what braids he already had in place, she ran her fingers through the soft locks with loving devotion. For spending so much time in the wilds, his hair seemed to have suffered very little, but now that they’d had time to rest and time to eat properly, it shined even more beautifully, like spun gold. 

Fili hummed beneath her hands, eyes shut. “You’d better put in the bead before I do something I will regret,” he warned her, voice tight.

Tirnalil gulped comically audibly and did her best to braid the bead into a similar position to hers, and though she doubted it was as neat, she tied it off and moved around to his front to inspect her work.

Slow, like a wolf stalking its prey, Fili rose from the chair and caught her hands in his, drawing her close so he could rest his forehead against hers. His breath was hot against her face, and she ducked her head, tucking her face against his neck almost shyly. She could feel him gulp when she pulled her hands free and wrapped her arms around his waist instead.

“Do you know what you do to me, _‘Ibinê_?” he groaned, circling his arms around her in turn.

Tirnalil laughed. “I don’t want to ask, but is that a knife in your pocket, or are my braiding skills really so _titillating_?”

Then suddenly her laughter died off, and she felt her heart beat as fast as a rabbit’s in a snare. She had an idea of how Fili felt, but she could not say she felt the same. She swallowed loudly and pulled away from him, hugging herself around her middle.

“Fili, there’s something else you need to know. I should have told you before the braids, before last night, but it is hard enough for me to accept the truth about myself. It is harder still to tell it to others.”

Mood effectively killed, Fili dropped back into the chair as he had initially, gesturing for Tirnalil to climb back onto the larger cushioned seat. “I have already made myself clear that there is nothing you could do that would cause me to take back the bead. I only hope to make you feel safe enough that you can share your truths with me.”

“I need you to know that you’ve done nothing wrong, Fili. There is no easy way to say it, but I cannot give you the intimacy that you want. I cannot pretend to enjoy something that I do not.”

“Did someone hurt you?” He was quick to ask but quicker to assure her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, “I would go as slowly as you need to if it would make you comfortable.”

Tirnalil shook her head and covered his hand with hers, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. She smiled softly, hoping beyond hope that she could find the words to adequately explain her condition. “This is who I am, Fili. Nothing happened to me to make me this way.”

“And you feel nothing?” He looked incredulous, brows furrowed, lips turned downwards, and she’d never felt so scared.

“Nothing.” She shook her head again and turned her eyes to the floor, but the longer the silence hung between them, the more she chewed at her bottom lip. Her head jerked upwards suddenly, and she muttered, “well, not _nothing_. It’s strange.”

“And what does _not nothing_ mean? That you will change your mind?” He moved his hand upwards until he tilted her face to look at him.

“No, I mean, I don’t know,” she whispered and wrenched herself away, furiously wiping away tears. Bless Yavanna, could she never stop crying? The rims of her eyes had nearly been rubbed raw ever since they reclaimed the mountain. 

Fili followed her with careful footsteps, maintaining just enough distance so she did not back away further. He spoke in a slow voice, hands outstretched as if he were approaching a wounded animal. Was she really so different from one? “Whatever it means, I am willing to wait. If you never change your mind, or if you do, I swear I will never ask for more than you are willing to give, on my honor as a prince of Erebor.”

“Maybe in the future we can come up with a compromise, but all I can tell you at this point in time is that I do not desire you in _that_ way.” Tirnalil allowed herself to be caught and gathered up into his arms, sighing against his chest, taking in the warmth radiating off of him.

He gently stroked her hair, carding his fingers through the dark strands before toying with the braid with his bead. He pulled away just enough to smirk down at her. “But you do desire me?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and tilting her face up to peck him on the check, “with my whole heart, I desire you. I want to be close to you. I feel at home when I am with you. You were the only thing that brought me peace when I needed it most. I want only to be by your side, but I would understand if you no longer wanted to continue. You are the Crown Prince. You will be expected to produce an heir, and that is something I cannot give you.”

“Tirnalil, I could not honestly tell you that I understand everything, but I have already said I am willing to wait. There is more to intimacy in a relationship than what happens beneath the sheets. Promise me that you will tell me if I overstep, Tir. If there is anything I have done in the past to make you uncomfortable, you have my word I shall endeavor to be better. You are my One, and I would do whatever you asked of me if it meant I could keep you beside me.”

“Thank you,” she whimpered, blinking back tears.

“You have my thanks for confiding in me,” he said and kissed her lightly on the forehead before freezing momentarily. He pulled away once more and locked eyes with her. “Now, tell me, _‘Ibinê_ , hand holding, general holding, light kissing, are those okay?”

Tirnalil smiled, nodding. “Yes, those are all good. You have not overstepped.”

With a chuckle, he grasped her hands in his and kissed the knuckle of each finger delicately, looking down at her through his lashes. “Is this okay?” He moved on to kissing the insides of her wrists, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Is this okay?” Then to the tops of her shoulders. “Is this okay?” To her neck, then to cheek, then to her forehead, always, always, always asking, “Is this okay?”

And Tirnalil had never felt so loved.

* * *

While Fili, newly crowned prince of Erebor, often found himself bogged down by politics and writing and rewriting letters to the other dwarven kingdoms, Tirnalil, however, kept company mostly with Tauriel who’d thankfully been allowed entrance into the mountain and practically free reign since Kili had similarly declared his intentions, the two of them wearing matching beads in braids behind their left ears. As long as she was with Tirnalil, they could move freely through the mountain halls. Which, given Tirnalil’s poor health, did not amount to much most of the time, but it granted them both an independence they could not have had otherwise.

Though Tirnalil did not mention it outright, Fili knew she still felt unsafe traversing the walkways by herself. She had not yet found her confidence navigating the world with one less eye and a tendency to lose time, though the effects of the latter seemed to occur less and less frequently. Tirnalil continued to detail each day’s events in her journal as a precaution anyhow before sliding into bed beside him.

Fili had overhead the two women speaking in hushed tones as they ascended the steps from an underground pool at the base of the mountain. Oin had recommended that Tirnalil be treated to its waters several times during the week, and as Tauriel was the only female that Tirnalil trusted, the job fell to the she-elf to escort her down the many steps in the dark. Even illuminated by torchlight, the steps were slick and smooth from many years of prior use. Oin made a note of requesting that handrails be installed in the coming months so that Tirnalil might eventually be able to make the journey herself.

He caught a snippet of their conversation and felt his face flush.

“-already share a bed,” Tauriel said in a teasing tone, though he didn’t hear the beginning of the accusation.

“And you do not?” Tirnalil grumbled, clearly having taken offence.

“No!” Tauriel exclaimed, their footsteps coming to a stop, “and even though Kili told me that a pair can become intimate at any point during the courtship, sleeping together, sharing the bed, is different.”

“If you’ve already been, you know, intimate with him, then I do not see why you will not sleep beside him.”

“It’s improper. We are not even wedded,” the she-elf continued to argue, but she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself of the impropriety more than Tirnalil.

“Dwarves are not elves, and you have already been disowned by the Elvenking. I do not think it matters anymore whether it is proper by elvish standards. The dwarves certainly do not care.”

Fili did not need to know his brother had already lain with Tauriel in a way that he might never experience with Tirnalil. He shook his head. No, he couldn’t think such thoughts. He’d promised to accept her, and he would though he still struggled to wrap his head around it.

He prepared to leave, but halted mid stride as Tirnalil’s next question reached his ears.

“Tauriel, how did you know you loved Kili?” If he wasn’t mistaken, her voice trembled with something akin to fear, or nervousness.

The she-elf hummed in thought. “Well, I suppose I knew it in the way that my heart felt whenever I laid eyes on him first thing in the morning. I felt warm and hopeful, untouchable, like a river that cannot be tamed, the force of that emotion is so strong. It fades through the day in intensity, but it is always there. Whenever I look at him, it feels like my heart is at peace.”

“From the second we met in Beorn’s house, something felt different about him, he was so warm, and when we touched, it was like a spark ignited a fire in my heart. I feel so impossibly warm when we are together, but not like a bonfire, more like a cozy fire in the winter. I feel at home when I am with him. I have never felt this before.”

Fili just barely peeked his head around the corner, and Mahal was on his side, Tirnalil was turned away from him, facing Tauriel, who wore a soft smile on her delicate face. He flushed when he realized she’d noticed him, but remained frozen in place when she spoke to the dragon, “If that is not love, I do not know what is. Besides, as long as you’ve told him the truth about your feelings, there is no reason any longer for you to be afraid of what you feel.”

“I think I love Fili, then. I have always loved him,” Tirnalil muttered so softly that Fili had to strain to hear it.

Later that night, after Tirnalil had already summarized the day’s events in her journal, they simply lay curled up around each other, watching the dancing flames from the comfort of the blankets. Fili dropped his lips to the small strip of bare skin behind her ear, chuckling when the tickle of his beard against the edge of her ear made her toss her head involuntarily.

“Give me a little warning next time,” she chastised jokingly, punctuating her demands with a light jab of her finger into his stomach.

He rolled onto his back, and she immediately scooted over to close the gap between them. He reached a hand around her shoulder and tugged at her little braid gently. “What should I bring for you that would prove my ability to provide for you? It’s been a while since we exchanged beads.”

“It is the dead of winter, I do not expect there to be much worth hunting now,” she answered instead, mirroring him and tugging at his braid. Her hand eventually fell to his chest, her fingers running through the golden curls there, curiously following them down to the darker curls below his belly button.

“Then it shall be even more impressive that I come back with something at all,” Fili countered with a smirk, snatching her wrist before she could continue lower. He shut his eyes and took several deep breaths before he released his grip, covering his face with both hands. “Careful now, don’t start something you are not ready to finish. I will never push you, but I would prefer not to have to take a cold bath tonight.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, sounding very much like she didn’t mean it, “Balin warned me that it would be bad for your image as the Crown Prince of Erebor to ask you to return with rabbits. In that case, what about a bull elk? Feed your people, but bring the antlers to me.”

“I can do that. It will take a few days to organize supplies and a party to take with me for safety’s sake, but you shall have what you ask for,” he promised, sealing it with a light kiss. 

The days were already growing shorter, colder too, when Tirnalil broached the subject of learning to make jewelry again. She didn’t doubt for one second that he would succeed in his hunting trip, and according to what Balin had told her, the next step involved Fili giving her a gift of his own making. It only seemed fair that she finally learned to make a bead for him before she tried anything more complex. If only to keep up the pretense that such a request was in preparation for making her own gift to present him before their wedding. Still, it would be nice if she could make things to leave behind. A frown wormed its way onto her face at the thought of it. She’d have to choose someone to write her will and to present it when the time came.

She rolled over in bed and forced herself to get dressed, Fili already long since gone from her side. Her health had improved to the point that she no longer needed to be supervised by Tauriel every waking minute. She’d even adapted to her one-sided vision well enough to navigate some of the narrower walkways without fear, though she tried her best to avoid them wherever possible. Still, Oin had made her swear to keep a hip pouch of different smelling salts and draughts in case she felt ill again. Buckling the pouch into place at her side, she made her way down to the dining halls to find Bombur for a small meal.

Given the irregularity of her sleeping schedule and her inability to handle the volume that was inherent to dwarven mealtimes, Bombur had been more than happy to meet her in the kitchens and provide her with food, which often meant a basket filled with more than she could reasonably be expected to eat in an entire day, but she could not refuse him, not when he smiled so brilliantly at her, thanking her for her service in the company.

Carrying the basket with her to the ramparts, she ate slowly, taking in the frosty air and the barren scenery before her, covered in snow. If she squinted hard enough, she could just make out the tendrils of smoke rising up from Dale. Hopefully, Tilda and her family were comfortable. She had seen very little of them since she nearly fainted at Fili’s coronation. If she ever got around to learning jewelry-making, her first gift would be for Tilda.

Tirnalil swiftly returned the empty basket to the kitchens. She’d surprised herself when she reached in for another scone and found she’d eaten everything in the basket. If Aulë still held her in good standing, perhaps she would even be able to keep all of it down. Thankfully, the curse of her existence seemed limited to the memory loss and very rarely the odd bout of nausea. Licking the last traces of icing from her fingertips, she continued her adventure down to the forges in search of her prince.

“Fili, can I ask you something?” she asked once she found him, dressed in a light shirt beneath a heavy leather apron.

He plunged whatever he’d been working on into a large trough of water, stepping back to avoid the cloud of steam that erupted from it. He left it there, but wiping his hands on his front, turned to face her with a soft smile. “Anything, _Bunnanunê_.”

“You said before that you would teach me to make my own bead, and I’m still holding you to that promise. Will you teach me when you come back from your hunting trip?” she asked earnestly, but her gears were already turning towards other plans.

He gently spun her around, resting his chin on her shoulder as he swayed back and forth to an imaginary beat only he could hear. Laughing, she twisted out of his grip but kept her hands in his.

“I thought you were supposed to be packing for your trip?”

“I wanted to finish something before I left first, nothing too important, just a trinket,” he promised, though he carefully kept his back to the trough when she tried to step around him.

“Just a trinket, hm?”

“Yes, now, quit that. Patience is a virtue,” he growled playfully before, in a flurry of motion, slipped one arm around her shoulder and one behind her knees, hoisting her up against his chest bridal style. “I’m afraid you’ve left me now choice but to forcibly remove you from the premises, my lady.”

Tirnalil chuckled but threw her arms around his neck anyway, burying her smile against his neck. “You’re mad, Fili.”

“Clearly, I mean, I did fall in love with a dragon of all creatures,” he replied easily, taking one step at a time away from the forges until she could no longer feel the almost oppressive heat.

“Fili,” she murmured so gently, he couldn’t help but pause in his steps, carefully lowering her to her feet in front of him.

“What is it?”

“Who will you take with you when you leave?”

“I’d like Kili to come with me, but I will leave it up to him whether he asks Tauriel to join. I don’t intend to deny him if that is his wish. Uncle definitely won’t let me leave without taking Dwalin as well, but between the three or four of us, I don’t think we’ll need any more than that to take down one elk.”

Good, he wouldn’t be taking the dwarf she needed to find.

Since she had not signed on with the Company, she was not owed a part of the treasure, nor would she ask for it. But there were other things, less expensive, that she could turn into art, into gifts. And she knew just the dwarf to ask as soon as she was finished at the forges.

“Let me know if Tauriel ends up going with you,” she told him, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, tugging at his braid before she took the last few steps two at a time. She didn’t miss the small chuckle that escaped him as she left.

She found the very dwarf she needed after a runaround with Bifur struggling to convey the other’s location, but finally, they’re seated at a worktable in a large room that seems to be dedicated to all things woodworking. All along one wall are shelves stacked with pieces of lumber of varying thicknesses, and on the opposite side, multiple barrels filled with smaller off-cuts sorted by its type, pine, basswood, balsa, other trees that escaped her recognition. 

Bofur’s eyes crinkled at the edges when he grinned at her, and his smile was so bright she couldn’t help but return it. He patted her on the shoulder and said with genuine happiness, “I’m glad the boys have made their intentions clear. You lot deserve to be happy. Now, what can I do for ya?”

“I was wondering, if you would be willing to teach me whittling while Fili’s gone. I know I will probably never reach such heights as making a fully posable dragon like you did, but I would like to try.”

“Absolutely. Few things make me happier than sharing my craft with someone new,” he said then clapped his hands together. “Now, safety first, any experience with knives?”

She shook her head, and he grabbed a pair of heavy gloves from a hidden slot under the worktable and tossed it her way.

“Once you’ve proven you won’t slice off a finger, you can work barehanded, but not before. I don’t need Fili demanding my head any time soon. I’ve had quite enough of that excitement.”

Tirnalil chuckled quietly to herself when she slipped on the gloves, finding they were several sizes too large.

Bofur grinned right back, wagging a finger at her. “That’s the smallest we have, so for your sake, you’d better learn quickly!”

The toymaker never really stopped smiling, so excited to teach someone something so dear to his heart, and Tirnalil couldn’t stop mirroring him, even when her cheeks started to hurt. It stung to think that they could have been such good friends, that she could have enjoyed such a warm friendship with him, if things had happened differently, if Thorin had never regarded her as a threat, if he’d taken her words as truths from the moment they first met. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and she disguised it as an allergy to the wood dust floating about the room, wiping them away with the edge of her sleeve.

They discussed the merits of soft versus hard woods, how to evaluate the grain of the wood, and what to avoid when selecting a piece for whittling. He sifted through the different barrels, identifying the different wood types, before settling on a small block of pine for her and a larger block of cherry wood for him. Then he pulled up a tray of knives and displayed the set from smallest to largest in front of her, pointing out the differences between them and how they might be used.

Then, he pulled a folding knife from his belt and pushed it across the table, leaning against his crossed arms. “I know I already gave you the dragon, but I’d like you to have this as well,” he said quietly.

“Bofur, I can’t,” she started to say, using both hands to scoot the knife back.

He shook his head and set it in front of her again. “Please. Having you here, it’s brought back some memories, good ones mostly. I meant to teach my son how to carve, but there was a sickness that came to Ered Luin. I buried my wife and son along with many other good friends that winter. So, please, Tirnalil, take the knife. It would settle an old dwarf’s heart to see it put to good use.”

There was no way she could refuse after that. Willing her hands not to tremble, she lifted the knife and unfolded the blade from its handle, admiring the sharpness of its edge and the intricate basketweave pattern burned into the handle.

“I made the handle and set the blade myself, but it was my wife who took up woodburning. Together, we made such beautiful things, made quite a name for ourselves back in Ered Luin.”

“What was her name?” she asked, flipping the blade back into its handle and setting the knife back on the table.

“Maeth, her name was Maeth. Our son was Darluth. We met down in the mines, and wouldn’t you know, it was love at first strike,” Bofur chuckled, spinning his block of wood in his hands. He sighed and the smile that rose to his face wasn’t quite as bright as the ones before it, tinged with sadness. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss them, but I will see them again when Mahal calls for me. Until then, there’s nothing I can do that will bring them back except to carry them with me.”

“Then why give me the knife?”

“My Maeth never wanted anything in the home that did not have a purpose. Our families were never wealthy before we were married and poorer still afterwards. We never wanted for anything, never wasted either, but she also believed in sharing what we had when we no longer had need of it. Good deeds bring greater returns, and all that. I carry their memory in my heart and in all I do. I do not need a knife to keep them with me.”

“Thank you, Bofur. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Keep it sharp and make beautiful things. That is all I ask, and should the time come that it needs a new home, give it freely.” He drummed his hands against the tabletop then, to clear the air between them, dispelling the veil of sorrow that had drifted over the room. “At any rate, let’s get you started on some basic cuts.”

They were making good progress together on their respective blocks, and Bofur was happy to proclaim her a quick learner though she wasn’t certain he wasn’t saying so merely to keep her spirits up. Still, he kept a running commentary of the goings on under the mountain, what new stories he’d overheard from the dwarves still journeying back to Erebor, and how the different guilds were reorganizing, how soon he expected the room to be filled with new whittlers and carpenters, artists and builders. She would, of course, still be allowed entry. He would vouch for her if any dared to question her presence. He even taught her a fancy knife trick to scare off anyone who might talk behind her back.

In between demonstrations of how to work against the grain, she felt the first tickle of a dry cough at the back of her throat, stretching out her neck and swallowing to try to force it down. The burning only intensified and she cleared her throat. Bofur cocked an eyebrow at her, and she waved him off when the cough didn’t return for several seconds. She didn’t last much longer after that. A few minutes later, the itch returned, and she coughed several times, pulling her shirt up over her nose and holding it there with both hands.

At some point it turned into wheezing, and with fumbling hands, Tirnalil dug out a small vial from her hip pouch. After several failed attempts to unstopper it, she pressed it into Bofur’s hands, all the while, fighting for each breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. When he finally got it open, he helped to bring it to her lips, taking the vial back after she emptied its contents with a grimace.

When Tirnalil’s breaths started to come more easily, she slumped back against the chair exhausted. Bofur handed her a new rag from the pile of them at the opposite end of the worktable to wipe away the sweat from her forehead, the frown on his face a stark contrast to the bright smile she’d grown accustomed to since they’d started.

“Are you still unwell, Tirnalil,” he asked cautiously. He sat down beside her and patted her gently on the shoulder.

“It comes and it goes,” she told him offhandedly. “If you wouldn’t mind taking me to Oin, he will want to replace that vial.”

“Of course, of course, whatever you need,” he said and stood.

While Tirnalil rested her head on her hands on the tabletop, Bofur brushed off the discarded bits of wood into a bin and set aside their projects in a cubby against the wall. Then he swept the floor, diligently moving up and down between the various tables before he returned to her side, the frown still present but not as deep, as he felt her forehead for a fever.

“Did you want to go to Oin now?”

“I think I’ve rested long enough,” she rasped, nodding then coughing into her shirt once more. Though she was shaky on her legs, she steadied herself against the table until she could walk unaided. 

To describe Oin as happy to see them would have been a lie. It was already difficult to say which felt more guilty about her failing condition, him or Thorin, for seeing her deterioration and failing to act. He’d only been following orders, but he’d made a promise when he set out in his studies to become a healer, to never allow needless suffering. Yet, that’s exactly as he’d done during the final months of their quest.

When Tirnalil stumbled into the infirmary with Bofur beside her, arms outstretched with the desire to be there to catch her if needed, Oin could only shake his head and point to the nearest bed for her to collapse into. She fell into it dramatically, face first before rolling over onto her back, presumably guilty for the clinking of the vials still at her hip. They were each separated into their own padded slots, but there was a limit to how well one could strap down a small vial, as well as a limit to how often Oin could be convinced to remake them if damaged for something so trivial as carelessness.

“I’ll take it from here, Bofur, thank you,” Oin mumbled, leading his friend back towards the door while Tirnalil caught her breath on the cot. Glancing over his shoulder to confirm that Tirnalil was not watching, he followed Bofur out into the hall and shut the door behind them. “Bofur, what happened to her?”

“I don’t know,” the toymaker replied honestly, nervously removing his hat from his and tugging at the ear flaps. “One minute she was fine, the next she could hardly breathe! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Oin heaved out a sigh, scratching his head. “What were you doing with her? Did Fili ask you to look after her while he was away? She must be lonesome without even the she-elf to keep her company.”

“No, she came to me herself, asked me if I would teach her to carve,” Bofur explained, smiling softly when he remembered telling her about his late wife and child. It felt good to teach again. “Perhaps it was the wood dust, though I swear, Oin, I’ve been on top of cleaning it before the end of the night, every night.”

“Yes, perhaps it was the dust. It would be easy if that’s all it was. Promise you’ll keep an eye on her for me,” Oin urged him, clasping Bofur’s forearm. “I never should have let her get into a state, and I don’t mean to lose her now.”

Bofur could understand the feeling. He slapped his hat back onto his head and gripped Oin’s forearm in return. “By my beard, I won’t let anything happen to her. Or Fili will be after both our heads!”

With a good-natured laugh, Bofur slapped his friend on the back and shuffled back down the hallway, leaving the healer to his charge.

When Oin stepped back into the infirmary and shuffled back over to Tirnalil’s cot, he found her asleep, despite the whistling breath that escaped her lips. He knew which draught she would have had to take for her symptoms, and while it appeared to have helped her reach him under her own power, it hadn’t been enough to alleviate them completely. Still, before he set about remaking it in case it happened again, he brought over a large brown bottle and poured out a small amount into a short glass, which he then carried to Tirnalil’s side.

It hurt his heart to wake her, but it had to be done. Gently, he shook her shoulder til her eyelids fluttered open. Drearily, she blinked up at him, finding him holding the glass out towards her.

“It’ll help. I’m sure you’re in a fair amount of pain,” he pointed out with a weak smile. 

She mumbled a thanks and knocked it back, slumping back against the cot immediately after Oin closed his fingers around the glass. She did not open her eyes again, but nor did the whistling sound return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a kudos or a comment. Thank you for reading this far and sticking with me on this adventure!
> 
> Translations:  
> Bunnanunê - my tiny treasure  
> Mamamshul-‘ibinê - my hoarded gem  
> Mamahmarlûna - she who has been made love to


	11. Chapter 9b

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili returns from his hunt and they can really get their courtship underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so, almost 16k words later....yeah I'm just gonna call this chapter here and the last chapter is gonna be the last chapter no matter how long it gets.
> 
> Things get a little steamy in this one, Lord help me, please no one I work with ever find this fic. *prayer hands*

By some stroke of luck, before Fili returned from his hunt, Tirnalil managed to return to whittling. Between Oin and the rest of the dwarves of Thorin’s company who still remained in Erebor, there was scarcely a moment she was left unattended, lest she suffer another attack. The hardest part was staying out of her sight, as only Bofur had the perfect excuse of acting as her instructor, but they caught a break when her boredom and isolation got the best of her.

Sheepishly, one morning, Tirnalil knocked upon the great doors of the king’s chambers.

“Come in,” came the careful voice of the king.

Thorin appeared shocked to see her at his door, but nodded a stiff greeting from behind his desk. Bilbo, however, greeted her more warmly, offering her a warm smile and an outstretched arm to put about her shoulders and guide her to a chair before the fire, draping a spare woolen blanket around her without waiting for her to protest.

“What brings you here, Tirnalil? Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you. It’s been too long, considering we’re under the same roof, or rather under the same mountain, such as it is,” Bilbo chuckled, sticking his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

“I was actually wondering if you might accompany me to Dale. There is something I must do, someone I must see,” Tirnalil replied.

“Well, you’re in luck. I’ve got nothing planned save for a bit of light reading.” Then he turned to Thorin. “Will you come with us? Perhaps the fresh air would do you some good as well?”

“Only if you do not mind, Tirnalil,” came his answer.

Tirnalil immediately shook her head. “Of course not. The more, the merrier.”

And so it came to be that three ponies trotted down the mountain path towards the city of Dale, where the men of the lake greeted them with kind smiles so long as the dragon rode at the front of their party. Tirnalil attempted to shrink back when children rushed to gather along the street all around them, cheering and clapping and hollering wildly, but Bilbo and Thorin rode their mounts too close together to allow her to slip between them.

She half-twisted in her saddle to glower at them.

“After how they mistreated you in the past, accept their kindness now for what it is, the thanks of a people who had nearly been brought to ruin,” Thorin told her with a smile that appeared strained on his face.

Bilbo leaned over to elbow him in the side. “Very kind of you to say.” He laughed under his breath. “He’s right though, Tirnalil. You deserve a bit of thanks, after all you’ve done, after all you’ve been through. I’m afraid I haven’t said it enough myself, so thank you. Thank you, Tirnalil, for everything.”

She groaned but shook herself. Then she was left with no other choice but to grin and bear it. She urged her pony forwards before she realized she did not quite know where she ought to be headed. Flagging down one of the children who darted in from a side street to shout her thanks, she leaned over from the saddle and asked, “I’m sorry to be bother, but do you know where I might find Bard and his children?”

The little girl appeared floored to have been spoken to by the savior of the people and tripped over her words several times before she finally abandoned her attempts at speech, instead raising an arm to point to the eastern side of the city where stood the remains of the king’s hall. Tirnalil thanked her and continued on her way. 

Behind her, Thorin laughed. “You forget you ride with a king in your company.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Tirnalil groused, refusing to turn her head, even when Bilbo could not help but laugh as well.

“I have had to meet with Bard several times since the battle for the mountain. I could have directed you from the start.”

She drew her reins tight and her pony halted instantly, causing his to toss its head at the sudden stop. “Serves you right,” she mumbled before picking up the pace once more.

This time, on the final stretch to the king’s hall, no one flooded in from the side streets to greet them. They left the ponies tied to a rail to the side of a pair of doors that had clearly seen better days before entering.

The inside was hardly better than the outside. No table stood down the central length of the great hall as there once had been. No table sat on the raised step above the main floor. Only a broken throne in the middle of that raised step, and behind that, tucked into a corner, a second, much less ornate chair pushed under a heavy desk. Off to one side was a door, hanging partly off one hinge. That door opened with a whine as the wood scraped against the stone floor.

“King Thorin! Bilbo, I had not known to expect you!” Bard exclaimed a moment before he realized a third person stood beside them. His brows came together at once and his eyes narrowed as if he did not believe them. Suddenly, he rushed to close the space between them, stopping just shy of gathering her up into his arms. “Tirnalil? Tirnalil! Please tell me you have come for Tilda. We have not gone a single day without her asking for you. I’m afraid you might wish to be seated before I release her upon you.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I had not come earlier,” she mumbled, bowing her head to the king of Dale.

He merely shook his head and grinned. “No, no, I understand. You have been through a great ordeal. War is not so easy a thing to recover from, even for a dragon. Shall I call for her?”

Bilbo stepped up beside Tirnalil, patting her on the shoulder, as he addressed Bard, “I think you and Thorin have some kingly matters to discuss, but how do you think Bain and Sigrid would like to come up to Erebor for the day?”

“I think they would like that very much,” Bard said with a wink before he shouted the names of each of his children, who burst forth from whatever room lay behind that broken door. He mouthed an apology to Tirnalil before he took a wide step back.

Nothing could have prepared her, no apology, no warning, for the shrill shriek that pierced the air when Tilda followed after her brother and sister into the empty hall. Tirnalil herself only managed a weak wave of her hand in greeting before the small girl crashed into her knees like a battering ram.

Only Thorin and Bilbo behind her caught her shoulders before she was pushed completely to the floor. Laughing heartily above her, they supported her back until at last, Tilda clambered off to one side, jumping up and down as high as she could reach. 

By the time Tirnalil rolled back onto her knees, kneeling before the small girl, Bilbo had already departed with the older children. Thorin had stepped around her to stand beside the king of Dale, smiling down upon the pair. 

“Tilda knows the way around the city well enough, and none would refuse you aid if you needed it. You should explore the city. I know it’s not much just yet, but we are well on our way to what this city could be,” Bard assured her.

As it turned out, it was far worse for Tirnalil to walk amongst the people of Dale than it had been upon horseback. Having Tilda at her side hardly improved their walking pace. They scarcely made it more than two steps before someone else prostrated themselves at her feet, muttering their thanks for her efforts at the battle. Each of them told stories of how they had seen the white dragon join the battle, moments before the first of the eagles soared overhead. They had taken her appearance as a sign of hope and of rebirth since they’d thought her vanquished after the battle against Smaug. 

Tilda held her hand throughout each of those meetings, offering herself as a grounding rod as Tirnalil shook from reining in her tears.

Finally, when they were permitted to pass without further delay, Tilda stopped the dragon with both arms around her knees, mumbling into the folds of Tirnalil’s heavy cloak, “I saw the eagles carrying you back down from the mountain. I thought you’d died, you were so pale, but Da said the elves had come for you, that they would save your life.”

She buried her face in the cloth, pulling at it to wipe her eyes.

“But then you never came down to visit, and I thought you were never going to get any better. Da tried to tell me you were just tired, and Tauriel, too, she said you were still sick, but I’ve heard people say it before, before, before, well, before people _die_. I thought you were dying, only no one would tell me so.”

Oh, no. Oh, no, oh, no. Tirnalil had never meant to cause her favorite Bardling so much anguish. She dropped to her knees and threw her arms about Tilda’s shoulders, crushing her to her chest. She whispered a thousand and one promises to never let her think such a thing again, promises that she would never leave her again, a thousand and one promises she already knew she would never be able to keep, but she could not bear to see Tilda cry. She would say anything to bring another smile to her precious face.

Finally, she brushed the mousy brown curls from Tilda’s tear streaked face, pressing a kiss to each cheek.

“I will never leave you without a goodbye again, little one. Now show me what things there are to do here in Dale.”

Tilda brought her down to the docks, where the lake presented a solid sheet of ice, and showed her how to skip a stone across its surface to make it sing. When Tirnalil’s arm grew tired, Tilda took her to the edge of the nearby woods where she and the other children had walked so frequently to an old ring of ruins that the snow had been packed down and so their shoes remained dry as they passed between the trees. There six stones stood in a loose circle, with half of a seventh broken halfway up its commanding height. Of those that still stood, at each of their tops a circle had been cut out, adorned with the sparkling remains of stained glass. They were in luck, just enough of the sunlight passed through the clouds and further still through the canopy of the evergreens to fill the shards with light. The untouched snow beyond the stones glimmered with the colored streaks. 

“Do you like it?” Tilda whispered reverently.

Tirnalil’s jaw had dropped and she struggled to find the words. “It’s beautiful,” she settled on at last. “What is this place?”

“Da says it used to be an old shrine to the Valar, to the Aratar. Each of the stones had at one time been decorated with carvings to honor the eight holy ones of Arda, but they were destroyed ages ago, long before even Smaug came to Dale the first time.”

“I wish I could have seen it when the glass was still whole. I imagine it must have been very beautiful.”

“Me too, but I like imagining things too. Like maybe it was more than just a ring of stones, maybe it was an entire hall made to honor them, filled with gold and lit with dozens and dozens of candles. Da says once spring comes again and we can plant the fields again, we can trade for books and things. I’d really like to get some more books about the elves.”

“Perhaps I can write to Thranduil and ask for him to loan you some things,” Tirnalil suggested, following along behind the child as she danced around the stones, running her fingers over their carved surfaces. 

After a time, Tilda dropped down against a snowbank, flapping her arms like a downed bird.

“What are you doing? You’ll catch your death!”

However, when Tirnalil went to lift the girl from the snow, she found herself unbalanced and Tilda yanked her down beside her. Her giggling helped to dispel the sudden wave of dizziness about as much as the shocking cold. Her breath knocked out of her, Tirnalil could only watch the cloud of mist leave her lips and disappear into the sky above her.

Tilda rolled forwards to her feet and proudly set her hands at her waist, commanding, “You need to wave your arms too! We’re making snow angels!”

“Snow angels?”

She cocked her head. “Yes, have you never made a snow angel?”

Tirnalil shook her head and turned her eyes back to the lacework of the canopy overhead. “It never snows in Imladris.”

“Imladris? Where’s that?”

“The Hidden Valley, it is the home of Lord Elrond, west of the Misty Mountain, and it was my second home as well.”

Tilda gently prodded one of Tirnalil’s boots with her own. “Could I visit there too? I want to learn all about the elves!”

“I’ll write to him as well for you. Lord Elrond has three children of his own, but they are grown. I’m certain he misses the days when children played in his halls,” Tirnalil promised, smiling to herself at the memory of a young Elessar playing hide and seek with the twins.

Again, Tilda kicked her boot, more insistently this time. “You still need to make a snow angel!”

Tirnalil chuckled, grumbling a “fine” before she weakly pushed her arms through the snow. After a while of waving her arms, she felt herself smile. Tilda giggled and plopped down next to her, hugging Tirnalil around her waist.

“I missed you,” she whispered, her voice muffled by Tirnalil’s cloak.

“I missed you too, I will never stop being sorry for the way I left you. It was never my intention to be gone for so long,” Tirnalil swore, kissing the top of her head and hold her close. Then she forced herself to stand with a groan, sliding her hand into Tilda’s to pull her up with her. “Now, how about we head back to your father and see if we can’t find some tea?”

Tilda jumped up and down and hugged her tight, pulling her quickly back down the path towards Dale. So it was that they left the ring of stones behind. Tirnalil chanced a final look over her shoulder, in time to catch a particularly bright flash of crimson as the sunlight passed through one of the stained glass fragments just right. The scarlet flashed like a flicker of fire, and she felt herself flush with a sudden burst of warmth. When she turned her eyes back to the path ahead of them, her gaze was caught by another flash of color amidst the dreary landscape.

She tugged Tilda back to her and knelt beside the small blooms, gingerly touching her fingertips to the purplish stems.

“Hellebore,” she whispered to herself. Then she stood and turned to face the ruins, obscured from her sight by the closely growing trees on either side of the path, bowing her head in silent prayer. Feeling lighter than she had in the past several days, she allowed Tilda to guide her the rest of the way to Dale.

When they returned to the king’s hall, Tirnalil discovered two things. The first: that her pony was the last left tied to the rail. The second: a young grey stallion now stood beside it instead, unsaddled and unbridled, but nevertheless waiting patiently for its master to return. As if sensing her nervousness, Tilda glanced up and squeezed her hand around Tirnalil’s before making her way inside, dragging Tirnalil behind her.

“Thranduil,” she gasped in lieu of a greeting when her eyes fell upon Bard’s guest.

At once, the Elvenking stood, moving so quickly that he toppled his chair behind him. Though he shut his eyes at the sound, he did not flinch. Behind him, Bard also rose to his feet from the broken throne he’d dragged over, albeit more carefully than the elf.

“Tirnalil,” Thranduil said in a steady voice, though his eyes remained fixed to the floor.

“What are you doing here?” she asked numbly.

“My apologies, King Bard, perhaps it’s best if I return another time,” he suggested, turning partly to face the confused man.

Tirnalil squeezed Tilda’s hand and sucked in a breath before she practically shouted, “ _No_. Thranduil. There is something I must say.”

Bard bent his knees and gestured for Tilda. “Tilda, darling, why don’t you come with me? Let’s get a bath drawn for you.”

Tilda squeezed once more before she parted, her little boots scuffing against the stones with every step. Tirnalil listened for the sound of the door creaking open and shut, never once taking her eyes off the Elvenking, who still refused to raise his eyes to meet hers. He looked different from when they’d last seen each other, granted, she had not seen him since that cruel return to the land of the living amidst the remains of a battlefield. Even without his leaf-like armor and silver cloak, she had not expected to see him like this, hunched into himself, vulnerable even. Guilty.

When only the Elvenking and his charge remained in the hall, Tirnalil finally made her approach, stopping one step before the raised platform. It seemed as though neither one could look into the eyes of the other.

“What do you wish to say? Speak now.”

She chewed her lip for another moment and sighed again, her voice trembling as she whispered, “I forgive you.”

Thranduil’s lips parted and he cocked his head to one side in disbelief, cold eyes seeking hers as they welled with unshed tears.

“I forgive you,” she repeated, louder than the first time, taking her first step onto the platform. “I forgive you.” Then another step. “I forgive you.” She stood directly before him. “I forgive you.” And bowed her head. “I. _Forgive_. You.”

She heard only his gasp, then the brush of silks, then she found herself wrapped into a hug she had thought she would never feel again.

“I fear I do not deserve such kindness. I have caused you so much pain. It was by my failure to act that your life was doomed long ago. If I had only made my lands safe for you, you might never have fled to Imladris. You might never have met those accursed dwarves.”

“No, it is because I met them that I can forgive you,” Tirnalil reminded him, pushing against his shoulders to create distance between them. “I hope that you will forgive them too, in time.”

The sound of the door reopening caused the distance between them to increase again until Thranduil knelt with his hands over his thighs and Tirnalil had backed away to the edge of the platform. Bard stood before them, his face torn between fear and sorrow.

“Do not worry, she is already asleep,” he said, striding across the hall to take a seat in his broken throne.

“I should get going before it gets too dark,” Tirnalil mumbled.

“If you will forgive me for saying so, Lady Tirnalil, I must only do as I was instructed before King Thorin returned to the mountain. I cannot allow you to return to Erebor alone. Lord Thranduil, as I must remain with Tilda, perhaps you can accompany her?” Bard suggested, keeping a careful eye on the two of them.

Tirnalil flinched, but let her eyes drift back towards the elf-king, whose head had tipped downwards. He nodded slowly, rising up from the floor and dusting off his robes. He extended his elbow to Tirnalil as he stepped around her.

“It would be my pleasure to accompany you,” he paused and bowed his head, “if you will have me.”

The corners of her mouth rose almost imperceptibly and she slid her arm through his, following him down the steps.

As they approached the doors, arm in arm, Thranduil paused to call over his shoulder, “King Bard, I shall return again to continue our discussion another time. Do not forget what we have already agreed upon.”

Strangely, Bard laughed deep from his belly and waved them onwards. “Go, Thranduil. Before King Thorin sends a raven down asking me if I’ve kidnapped our dragon.”

Even outside on the steps of the king’s hall, even standing beside Thranduil’s stallion, it felt strangely unreal. Tirnalil paused with one arm over her pony’s saddle, watching Thranduil gracefully hop onto the horse’s back, his cloak fluttering behind him like a pair of great wings. As he turned his horse to face her, he found her unmoved, and she could not hide the sorrow from her face.

“Do you wish to ride with me?” he asked, breaking the silence.

She at once rushed to his side and allowed herself to feel weightless when he hoisted her up to sit before him, threading an arm around her waist to keep her steady. He had not expected to have another passenger and had forgone a saddle that morning, certain that his trip from the woods into Dale would last less than a full day. Holding her to his chest, he was reminded of days long since passed, of the first days after Tirnalil’s coming to the Woodland Realm, when things were simpler.

Their return to the mountain was quiet, save for the sound of hooves against the stone pathway and the snow crunching underfoot where it had not yet melted. Tirnalil leaned her weight back against the Elvenking and let her mind wander.

Just before they reached the gates, when the sound of the rushing river cut through hazy daydreams of blonde hair and a warm touch, Tirnalil touched her hand to Thranduil’s on the reins, and he slowed his horse to a stop.

“What is it,” he asked cautiously.

“Will you promise me something?”

“Anything, _tithen pen_ , I would promise you anything,” he answered immediately, tightening his grasp about her waist.

A smile flickered upon her face for scarcely the span of a heartbeat. “Promise me that when I’m gone, you will look after them, that you will look after Tilda. Please.”

“As you wish.” He would have been a fool and a liar to believe he could ever distance himself from the Bardlings now. Despite his icy countenance, he did enjoy their company. The halls of Mirkwood had fallen quiet since Legolas entered adulthood. Perhaps, with time, it could come alive again with the laughter of children.

Tirnalil continued and placed her hands over his, small and shaking. His grip tightened over the reins. She raised one hand to her face, wiping away the first drops of tears from her cheeks. “And when I’m gone, there is something you must give to Fili. But _only_ after I am gone.”

Thranduil gulped behind her. “What is it?”

“Come with me into the mountain and take it with you, take it back to the woods before Fili returns.”

Thranduil spurred his horse forward again and kept silent for many more moments as they continued towards the gate. He did not think for one second that Thorin would enjoy having the elf inside his mountain, but he suspected the dwarf would not deny Tirnalil anything she asked, as much as he disliked him. Whether or not Thorin knew the truth of Tirnalil’s condition, he could not be so blind to think it was not more severe than she let on.

Several more times Tirnalil could hear him sigh as though he wished to speak but was struggling to find the words.

Just before they reached the gate, close enough that the guards posted to either side of the entrance could see but not hear them, Thranduil halted his steed once more, though the pony, who had diligently been following along, turned away and trotted happily off towards the stables on its own.

“You have made your peace with death, then,” he said finally.

She could only nod. 

“Yet you plan to continue your courtship with the dwarf princeling?”

Another nod.

“You will break his heart.”

“I know,” she whimpered, clasping her hands together and pressing them against her lips to hold back her cries.

“Does he know the truth?”

Another nod.

He dropped the reins and hugged her against his chest before he released her with a heavy sigh. “I wish you happiness, for however long it may last,” he settled on.

Just as he’d expected, Thorin met them at the gate with a sour look on his face, but when Tirnalil explained that she had something for him to take back to the Woodland Realm, he did not argue against it. He extended a grudging welcome and followed them all the way back to the royal wing, making it clear that the Elvenking did not yet have his trust. At long last, he parted ways to continue to his own rooms when Tirnalil stepped into the one she shared with Fili. While she crossed the room to dig around in one of the chests shoved up against the wall, he remained by the door for another moment before he moved over to the desk, immediately being drawn to the overfilled journal. 

He lifted it and asked quietly, “Is this yours?”

Pausing in her search, she nodded and explained, “Yes, when I first woke up, there were times that I could not remember where I was or why I had gone someplace. I lost whole days. Ori gave me a journal to help me while I was still bedridden, but I do not expect he intended it to be filled so quickly.”

“Does it still happen? Losing time?” 

She returned her attention to the trunk but answered him after a short while, “Not so frequently, at least that I’m able to tell.”

“I keep hearing that your condition is still unstable, but in what ways? Perhaps I should send a healer back when I return to Mirkwood.

“It’s nothing that I cannot deal with,” she was quick to assure him, stopping again. “Oin has given me a handful of medicines to treat myself if I feel ill, and I have had more good days than bad recently.”

“If that changes, do not lie to me. I will not abandon you again, I will give you whatever aid you require,” he promised, setting the journal back down onto the desk.

“Thank you,” she said with a genuine smile. When she looked back to the trunk, she found what she’d been after, hiding under a scrap of black fabric with bits of silver flecked throughout. Carefully, she pulled it out and pressed it into Thranduil’s hands. “Take this and keep it safe for me.”

He nodded mutely, turning the object over in his hands before tucking it into a pocket inside his robes. It had seemed fairly simple, but with the way Tirnalil couldn’t keep her eyes off it until it passed out of her sight, he imagined there was a story there, some private memory that she shared with the dwarf princeling. Whatever it was, he would protect her little treasure, as much as it pained him to be the one to deliver it after her passing, as much as it pained him to even think of a world after her death.

She accompanied him back down to the gates in silence, her arms wrapped around her, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders the closer they came to the winter cold beyond the mountain.

After he’d mounted his stallion, he glanced down at his charge, wished her well, and departed before either of them could give in to the tears they so desperately fought to keep at bay.

* * *

Several nights later, Tirnalil liked to think she was improving, both in health and in skill with her wood carving knives, though she typically only used the knife Bofur had given to her. She made a point of traveling down to Dale with a block or two to practice on while telling stories to Tilda of Mirkwood and of Imladris, and she liked to point out to Oin that it had been a good long while since her last attack and she did not feel a need to take an escort down with her. It had not been an argument she’d won, but she found herself enjoying the rotation of dwarves forced to come along with her. As much as they tried to keep a straight face, they found themselves laughing once or twice while listening to her talk about how it had been to live with the elves.

More than once, she’d been able to pawn her dwarf escort of the day onto Bain, who seemed more than happy to learn how to fight, thought Tirnalil expected that had more to do with the fact that it was a break from the reading his father forced upon him in the name of learning to be king after him. He always returned just before nightfall complaining of sore muscles, but there was no hiding the smile on his face.

Still, though the dwarves did their level best to keep her spirits up, she missed _her_ dwarf.

Lately she’d found herself spending more time on the ramparts watching the horizon for his return. Occasionally one of the others would come to attempt to persuade her to come inside, but after a while, they’d given up and taken turns bringing her food and drink, other times bringing some of the heavier furs to keep her warm until she was forced to come inside. Most often, Balin was the one who finally convinced her to head inside for the night, him or Thorin.

“These are hard times for hunting, Tirnalil,” Thorin had told her one of those times. “Winter is a hard time on a good year, but Smaug’s presence under the mountain had forced away much of the animals I’d grown up hunting. I’m certain Fili will return, but he must have had to travel far afield to find something truly worth bringing back before his consort.”

“I should have asked for a rabbit, or a fox, something easier. Nothing is worth being gone for this long,” she grieved and slumped against the door to her rooms. It was too large, too empty without Fili beside her. 

Thorin slid down with his back to the wall beside her and offered a hand to her. “I understand some of what you are feeling, I think. We have come so far, and several times, I thought I would lose my nephews, that I would have to tell their mother that I could not keep them safe. We’re here now, under a mountain, filled with more riches than I could have ever dreamt of, but all of it is worth nothing, the halls too empty without their laughter. I know you miss him, but he will return to you.”

Tirnalil grasped his hand tightly and smiled to herself. “Thank you, Thorin.”

“Of course, now will you be alright on your own tonight?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied in a quiet voice and released Thorin’s hand so she could stand, clasping her hands behind her back before she bowed to him. “Have a good night, Thorin.”

“My door is always open to you, should you need anything,” he promised, returning the bow with a tip of his head before he rose to his feet and continued down the hall to his own room. He waited there, a hand on the doorknob, until Tirnalil disappeared into her room, before he headed in himself to find his hobbit still reading before the fire.

Bilbo set his book aside, nestling it between his thigh and the arm of his seat, at the sound of the door shutting behind the dwarf, half-turning to check if he’d brought anyone with him. He’d half-expected to find Tirnalil there as well. She tried to put on a brave face, but the separation had clearly been draining her.

Thorin must have understood the look on his face because he was quick to say, “She misses him, but she is doing well. I hope you do not mind, but I told her our door was open, in case she needs something. Before he left, Fili told me she had nightmares.”

Bilbo nodded quickly. He’d been told the same. “That was kind of you.”

“She will be part of my family soon enough. I hope she feels comfortable asking me for help, not as a king, but as a friend.”

“That may be hard given all that’s happened,” Bilbo said tentatively.

“I know, but I will continue to try.” Thorin toed off his boots, pushing them against the wall and out of the way, before he approached Bilbo with careful steps and a curious expression.

“I’m sure she sees it too. It is good that you are trying.” Bilbo pursed his lips, trying to decipher the dwarf’s intentions. His jaw dropped when Thorin took a knee in front of him, beautifully backlit by the flames.

“Bilbo, I don’t know if you will ever forgive me fully for what I said and did to you under the influence of the gold, nor can I expect you to forgive me for all the hurts I have caused to Tirnalil because my pride would not allow me to put aside my prejudices, but I swear on my life that I will do whatever I can to make myself worthy of your forgiveness until my dying days,” he proclaimed with a bowed head. “I only wish to be permitted to remain by your side.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said his name painfully slowly, “what are you doing?”

The king of the dwarves slipped a hand into his coat and tipping up his head to lock blue eyes with brown, he breathed in, one, two three, then out, one, two, three, and unfurled his hand, presenting an ocean hued bead swirled throughout with threads of gold and silver. “Bilbo, I had planned on asking you to enter a courtship with me, but I know that I am not yet worthy of that honor. Still, I would give this to you as proof of my intentions. If you do not think you will ever come to return my affections, you only need to return this to me. Until then, I will wait, but my feelings will not change. My heart is yours, _ghivashel_.”

“Oh, for Yavanna’s sake,” Bilbo cried, clapping a hand over his mouth, not even bothering to wipe away the tears dancing on his lashes. “ _Thorin_ , you can’t just say things like _that_.”

Dumbstruck, Thorin shut his hand over the bead and made to stand, but a gentle touch to his shoulder stopped him.

Bilbo smiled softly at him and moved his hand to Thorin’s cheek, patting him twice before pointedly glancing down at Thorin’s hand with the bead and back to his face.

Still too awed and confused to speak, Thorin opened his hand and tried not to flinch as Bilbo carefully picked up the bead, holding it up to the light to more closely examine the colors and the craftsmanship. Finally, Bilbo dropped it back to his palm and held it over his heart. The smile he flashed at Thorin then could have rivalled the sun for its brightness.

“You’re a fool, Thorin Oakenshield, but you are my fool,” Bilbo assured him. He looked back down at the bead in his palm, unable to hide both his smile and his tears. “Still, I think you are right. I’m not ready yet to enter anything like courtship with you. There are still matters I must attend to back in the Shire, and you are still coming into your own as the King Under the Mountain.”

“But someday?”

“Yes, someday, I think I would like to be consort to the king,” the hobbit said with a wistful smile.

Thorin’s heart could have stopped then and he would have died a happy dwarf. It was all he could do not to kiss his hobbit then and there, but he would respect the wishes of his One. He had been lucky enough to have the hobbit still willing to share a space with him this long.

Bilbo tucked the bead carefully into his pocket alongside his other most favored trinket and patted it lovingly before he rose, pulling Thorin to his feet as well, and slipped his arms around the other’s waist. He breathed in the heady scent of the dwarf and sighed happily.

“Let’s go to bed, Thorin,” he whispered, and the dwarf was more than happy to oblige.

Wrapped up in Thorin’s arms, Bilbo considered himself the luckiest hobbit in all the world, though he supposed he was the most un-hobbit-ish of all the hobbits in the world. He could already imagine the look Lobelia would undoubtedly give him when he returned to Bag End. If she hadn’t already moved in during his absence, he’d eat his own hairy foot! He’d have to write to the Thain in the morning to ensure that if such a thing had happened, it would be undone and his things returned to him posthaste. Oh, if only he could see the look on her face when that hammer came down! No doubt she’d put up a fuss, but perhaps the Thain would be able to withstand it. If not, surely a dwarf king would put her dreams of ever living in Bag End to rest.

Even the thought of returning to Bag End with Thorin beside him filled his heart with glee.

It had hurt to have to refuse Thorin’s offer of courtship, only eased by the fact that Thorin himself had tempered his own intentions, settling for simply passing over the bead as a promise of his intentions. Now was not the time to enter such a thing at any rate. Thorin’s nephews were still so young and so in love with each of their Ones, but Bilbo knew he was not the only one who could see past Tirnalil’s strong front. Entering a courtship now would only be a paltry distraction from the truth. 

Once things had settled down, if Tirnalil continued to improve, Bilbo promised he would revisit the notion of a courtship with a king, but for now, he could be content. Thorin would wait for him.

* * *

“They’re back! They’re back!” Ori shouted, nearly tripping over the tails of his scarves after bursting into the library where Balin had somehow managed to drag Tirnalil for the day, under the guise of teaching her some Khuzdul. Breathless, he had to steady himself with his hands on his knees before he repeated more slowly. “Tirnalil, they’re back. Fili’s back.”

“Take me to him,” she said and pushed herself away from her desk in a tangle of limbs, very nearly tripping over herself much as Ori had. She turned to apologize for her departure, but Balin only smiled at her, waving her onwards.

“Go, child, go,” he laughed as she and Ori sprinted out of the library faster than goblins fleeing from a Balrog.

Rather unfortunately the library was not exactly the closest chamber to the front gates, and Tirnalil had not thought to ask Ori if he’d seen their approach from the ramparts nor how far out they were. Nevertheless, she did not even entertain the thought of slowing down, even as her lungs burned from her efforts to keep pace with the young dwarf. Her steps faltered once or twice, and Ori appeared tempted to slow down, but she glared at him. _Keep going_ , was the unspoken command, and he obeyed. She’d waited this long for her One to come back to her. She would not wait any longer.

Finally, finally, finally, nearly completely out of breath, Ori rounded the last corner just ahead of Tirnalil, slowing his pace as his eyes fell upon the two princes, their guard, and the she-elf. They looked tired, but happy to be back. Behind them lay the still frozen carcass of an immense elk, its hind limbs tied with elven rope that Fili appeared more than grateful to allow to fall from his shoulder. Dwalin and Kili clapped the dwarf on either shoulder, Kili going the extra step to ruffle his hair before he laughed and took Tauriel’s hand to drag her off elsewhere. Dwalin took up the rope and took up the task of delivering the meat to the kitchens. As Fili turned back from Dwalin, his eyes locked with Ori’s at the opposite end of the hall.

Fighting back dizziness even as black spots danced at the field of her vision, Tirnalil pulled up alongside Ori, grasping onto his shoulder just to stay upright.

“Tirnalil?” Fili whispered fondly, almost in disbelief.

“Take me to him,” she whispered to the scribe. “Please.”

Sliding an arm under her shoulder, Ori hoisted as much of her weight as he could manage onto his own shoulders and began to make his way over to the prince, step by agonizing step. He tapped her hand with a fingertip and pointed to the pouch at her waist as they walked. “You should take something. You’re not well, Tirnalil.”

“I just pushed myself is all. I’ll be fine.”

“Tirnalil, please. Think of Fili. You’ll scare him if you pass out now,” Ori hissed under his breath. He hated to do it, but he was right to. With shaky hands, Tirnalil dug around in the pouch before she unstoppered a vial and drank down its contents, groaning at the taste. “There we go, that’s better.”

“Tastes terrible,” she whined, but before they made it halfway across, she took more and more of her weight off Ori’s shoulders until she was more or less walking under her own power again.

Just as quickly, Fili finally believed what his eyes were telling him, and he broke into a jog towards the pair, speeding up with every step until he was sprinting. Seeing the prince heading their way, now that Tirnalil no longer needed his support, Ori bowed out, stepping back just in time to watch Tirnalil and Fili crash into each other’s arms. He mumbled out a greeting, patted them both on the shoulder, and hastened back towards the library.

Tirnalil hugged her prince as tightly as she could, letting all her worries melt away now that he’d finally come back. She pressed her forehead against his chest and muttered, “Please don’t leave me for so long again.”

Fili laughed under his breath, ducking his head to press a kiss to her cheek. “I intend not to,” he promised and slipped a hand into hers. “Now, I am in good need of a bath. Dwalin’s taken the meat down to be prepared for a feast later tonight if you are up for it.”

“I suppose I could endure it for you,” she teased, pulling away, though she kept her hand in Fili’s, walking beside him back to their quarters.

“I missed you, Tirnalil,” he crooned, pulling her close again and throwing his arm over her shoulder. “I did not think I could miss someone so much, but there were so many nights that I nearly came back before we found the elk.”

“I told your uncle that I should have asked you for a rabbit,” she admitted and leaned against his side. “I told him that nothing was worth being without you for so long.”

Fili stopped and spun her around to face him, hugging her again, as tightly as he could until she returned the gesture. “I’m so sorry, _ghivashel_. It was never my intention to be gone for so long.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, even though she had to speak through her tears, “it’s okay. You’re back now, and that’s all that matters.”

“I promise, tomorrow, to make it up to you, I’ll teach you to make jewelry. Whatever you want to learn, I will teach you. How does that sound?”

“Perfect. It sounds perfect. Thank you, Fili,” she cried and hugged him even more fiercely. 

They made it back to their rooms after a long while, their pace slowed by the awkward angle needed to maintain the hug, but Tirnalil was reluctant to part from his side and Fili too in love to fight it. The door shut behind them, and they both removed their shoes, kicking them off somewhere to the side to be tripped over later, but for now, they simply stared into the other’s eyes.

Fili breathed out and pressed his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes, as his hands rubbed her upper arms before traveling up to her neck, stopping just shy of tilting her lips up to meet his. “Tir, Tir, I’ve missed you so much, but I need you to tell me if I’m overstepping, all right?” he whispered into the space between them.

“You’re fine, this is fine,” she mumbled back, closing the distance and pressing her lips to his. She twisted her hands in his shirt, pulling him closer until he tangled his hands in her hair in return. He answered with a low groan and canted his hips against hers, moving her backwards until she hit the wall with a gasp. “I forgot how weak my knees feel when we kiss.”

Taking her moment of surprise to pause himself, Fili bent over even to duck his head against her neck, his breathing heavy. Kissing a trail up the side of her neck, he paused once more, pulling away far enough to look her in the eye.

“Will you bathe with me?” he asked, sliding his hands back down to her waist as he waited for her answer.

Tirnalil chewed her bottom lip and looked to the side.

With a sigh, Fili forced a smile to his face and nodded. He let his hands fall away from his One, but before he could walk away, she caught him by the wrist and yanked him back to her. He’d been so off balance that her pull sent him crashing back to the wall, where he only just managed to brace himself with his hands on either side of her head just in time to avoid crushing her.

“I love you, Fili, I should have told you before you left,” she whispered, tilting her head up to catch the corner of his mouth. She felt it when he smiled and kissed him more directly this time. “I _love_ you, Fili.”

He chuckled and returned the kiss with a slow, gentle press of his lips, smiling against her, until he was forced to pull away he was smiling so hard. “I’m never leaving you again if I get to hear you say that every day.”

“Then, I love you,” she cupped the back of his head and pulled him down for another kiss, “I love you,” she curled her other hand around his neck and nipped at his lower lip before kissing him once more, “I love you,” she kissed him and steered him towards the bathroom, walking him backwards, “I love you,” she kissed down his neck, “I _love_ you,” she parted and untied the laces at the front of his shirt. 

Fili snatched up one of her hands and, bringing it up to his lips, showered each knuckle with a butterfly kiss, while she busied herself with tugging at the hem of his shirt. She laughed and pulled her hand back to continue with her mission, reattaching herself to his neck once she’d rid him of the offending garment. She let her hands explore the tight muscles of his back before they slid down and reached the top of his pants, where she finally paused. Fili let his arms encircle her and stepped backwards until the backs of his legs collided with the edge of the tub.

“You don’t have to push yourself, Tir, it’s okay,” he murmured into her hair, gently pulling himself away so he could turn the handles to let the basin fill with hot water.

Tirnalil watched the water rise for a second before she sought out Fili’s hand again. She kept her eyes to the water as she spoke, “I don’t think I’m ready to bathe _with_ you, not yet, but I can bathe you. If you are okay with that?”

Fili reached up with his opposite hand to smooth her hair behind her ear with a soft smile. “Tir, I am okay with whatever you are willing to give me.”

“Thank you,” she murmured warmly. Then she stepped back quickly at the first splash of water at her feet. Quickly she reached back over to stop the water from continuing to pour from the faucet and spill over the edge of the tub. With a sheepish grin, she turned her back to Fili. “Let me know when you’re in the water.”

All she got was a soft snicker, and just before she could chastise him for it, she got nailed in the back of the head by his pants being tossed at her. She very nearly turned to toss them back, but she stopped herself at the first glimpse of his fair skin, spinning right back before her eyes caught any more.

“You ass!” she shouted, but it quickly turned into a laugh when his socks followed, though thankfully, she’d been more prepared to dodge them, bolting back towards the door and farther from his reach.

“I’m in, you can turn around now,” his voice drifted over from the tub.

Only a little suspicious that he might be playing another trick, Tirnalil slowly twisted and could not hide the grateful sigh that escaped her when she found him actually seated in the large tub, thankfully most of him obscured by the light layer of bubbles at the water’s surface. It smelled strongly of roses.

“I didn’t take you for someone who liked the smell of roses,” she muttered awkwardly as she sat beside the tub, resting her crossed arms at its rim, thankful for the small stool they kept in the bathroom for her to reach some of the taller shelves and the towels Fili had taken to stashing up there. “I like it though.”

“Good, I didn’t think when I grabbed for the soap, so I’m afraid you’ll have to like rosy me for a while until I bathe again.”

“If we do any work at the forges tomorrow, you are bathing again right after. You’re not getting into that bed covered in sweat.”

Fili had a retort at the tip of his tongue, but at the last second, pursed his lips and swallowed it down, instead ducking his head under the water to wet his air. When he resurfaced, he crossed his arms over the rim of the tub beside her and nudged her elbow with his.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable,” he reminded her, watching her carefully. 

She merely scooted closer and kissed his cheek before she reached across him for the bottle of shampoo, letting a good amount puddle in her palm then replacing it on the shelf behind him. “Thank you, now come here.”

With firm but simultaneously gentle fingers, she worked the shampoo through his hair into a satisfying lather, massaging his scalp the way that she knew she liked. Hopefully he was no different. The way his eyes closed and his shoulders relaxed, Tirnalil preferred to think she was right.

“Keep your eyes closed, I’m going to rinse it out and I’d rather you not get it in your eyes,” she told him, taking a large cupful of the bathwater to rinse the suds from his hair, using her other hand to run through the strands, taking more of the bubbles with it. When she was satisfied, she grabbed another of the bottles and went through the process again, working the solution to the ends of his hair and returning to massage his scalp. Every now and then she would duck her head forward to press her lips to his forehead. 

“Mmm, Tir, I’m about to fall asleep, you’re good at this,” he mumbled, cracking open one eye to look at her. He reached up a dripping hand to curl around the back of her neck. “I missed you so much.”

“Me too.” She smiled down at him and forced him to drop his hand so she could continue to rinse out his hair. When she was done, she got up to grab a washcloth and for a moment simple sat behind his head.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said before he could get the words out. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s true though,” he said, twisting his body around so he could cup her face between his hands. “I am grown and capable of washing myself. I just wanted to be close to you.”

“I know you are, and I want to be close to you too,” Tirnalil said quickly, covering his hands with hers. She stared him down and took a deep breath. “This is something I have to work through myself. It’s just strange, how I feel about you.”

Fili slid his hands out from under hers and crossed his arms over the tub’s edge, resting his head over his arms. “Talk to me, why is it strange? Is it the _not nothing_ you described before?”

She chewed her bottom lip for another moment before she shakily grasped the last bottle on the shelf, the rosy soap, and rubbed a dollop of it into the washcloth until it formed a generous layer of bubbles. “It’s strange, I don’t know how else to describe it. I’ve never felt this way before. I hate to say it, but I have seen many of the elves naked before, in Imladris. Communal baths were a frequent affair, though I never took part since they typically happened at night. Under the stars, the steam rose so prettily.”

“But?”

“But, well, I never felt anything towards them, the way I feel about you.”

Fili leaned forward, lifting his head from his arms. “And how do you feel about me?”

Suddenly breathless, she whispered, “Like I have to touch you.”

Fili lifted himself from the water and gently wrapped a hand over the one holding the washcloth, bringing it to his chest, while at the same time, pulling her close enough that he could align his lips with her ear, whispering, “Then touch me.”

The washcloth dropped into the water with a heavy _plop_ , but Tirnalil was too preoccupied with the too warm skin under her hands to care. She surged forward, her hands moving in wild strokes over Fili’s chest, pressing and sliding over his skin, leaving nothing untouched, even as they kissed with reckless abandon. This time, when the wet touch of a tongue slid across her lips, she didn’t even flinch before she let him inside. When his hands left her clothes sticking to her skin, she found she didn’t care about that either. When they pulled her up by the waist and into the water with him, she separated only long enough to gasp at the shock of the heat against her before she crushed her lips against his once more.

Too weighed down by the water seeping into her clothes, her movements became aggravatingly slow, and Tirnalil had to rip herself away from Fili to remove them, but once she’d stripped over her sweater, leaving her in only a thin shift dress, and, shit, her little medicine pouch, she paused, panting heavily. She braced herself against Fili’s shoulders, suddenly aware of her legs bracketing his hips.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered quietly, gently running his thumb across her cheekbone. “Come back to me. You’re okay.”

“I don’t know what’s come over me,” she said, forcing her breathing to even out with a shaky inhale. 

“Is it a bad feeling?” Fili asked carefully, cocking his head to the side. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, I don’t think so, but I should probably take this off,” she muttered and reached below the water to unbuckle the straps and delicately set the soaked pouch on the bathroom floor, nudging it away as far as she could without leaving the bathwater completely.

Fili tugged at her dress when she refocused on him, her hands at his waist, tracing imaginary circles over his skin. “And this?”

“Not yet, I’m sorry.”

He quickly leaned up to kiss her. “Don’t apologize, it’s okay. Just let me know what you’re okay with.”

“This, I like this,” she murmured and kissed him again, long and slow, sucking his lip into her mouth and biting just barely. She pulled away and ducked her head against his neck, pressing light kisses along the line of his throat, following his pulse, until she reached the dip of his clavicle. Her hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of his hip bones. “I like touching you, more than I thought I would.”

Fili’s breath hitched as he laughed. “Believe me, I like it too. You don’t know what you do to me, Tir.”

Then her hand continued much lower, and she snickered at his sharp inhale. “Actually, I think I do.”

Her hand twisted around his member and tugged _just so,_ ripping a moan from him, and he buried his face against her neck, hardly muffling the sound. Tirnalil traced her fingers lightly over his length, up and down, never providing enough pressure, until she reached the head, where finally, she rubbed a small circle over the tip. 

“Fuck, Tir,” he gasped, his fingers digging into her hips to steady himself as his own hips bucked upwards out of his control.

She dropped her remaining free hand down below the water to ease his grip over her hips before she used it to pin his hips to the floor of the tub.

“Stay,” she whispered in his ear.

He groaned again and promised mutely to do his best, nodding in the hopes that she might have mercy. Never again would he leave her side if he would always be doomed to such torture, such exquisite torture. Another moan was torn from him when on her next upward stroke, her thumb swiped over the head, featherlight the first time. He almost missed the sound of her laugh, but on the second pass, her grip was tighter and his answering moan louder. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“Do you like this?” she asked, sliding the hand that had been on his hip back up his chest while she pulled upwards with her other hand, slow, so agonizingly slow. 

“You know I do.”

“Do I though? All I really know is that I like the noises you make, especially when I do _this_ ,” she chuckled coyly next his ear as her thumb swiped over the head once more. “What other noises can I pull from you? Should I go faster?”

“You are a monster, a _monster_ .” Fili groaned and leaned his head back against the rim of the tub, his voice shaky, “ _Yes_ , faster.”

She sped up, even adding a twist of her wrist as she moved her hand over him, and she could feel herself growl, reminiscent of the dragon, when he practically howled from the sensation, tipping his head forward to stare at her in wonder. She cocked her head to the side, feigning innocence, “That good?”

“Tir,” he moaned against her throat, sucking a bruise against her skin, until she started to move again. “ _Tir_.”

“What? Tell me what you want, Fili,” she cooed, nipping at his neck in return.

“Harder, Tir, grip me harder, and _move_.”

She moved her hands over him, tugging and rubbing, occasionally dipping lower, but always coming back to his commanding length. Another twist and he came apart in the water, stifling his cries against her shoulder, his own hands digging bruises against her hips. Finally, finally, when his breathing slowed, he tilted his head back to get a look at his devilish One. Through half-lidded eyes, he found her face, smug at first, then kind.

Delicately, cautiously, she brought a hand up from the sudsy water to curl around the back of his head, leaning in for a sweet kiss. She did not linger long after that. Trailing her other hand across his chest, she carefully climbed out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it about her shoulders before she sat back on her little stool behind the opposite end of the tub. 

Still panting just slightly, Fili scooted himself closer to her. His lips twitched, once, twice, before he settled on a surprised grin. “That was amazing, Tir. Do you want me to…?”

Tirnalil felt herself blush and rushed to wave away Fili’s concern, stroking his cheek as she brought him close for another kiss. “No, Fi, I did that for you.”

“Then thank you,” Fili whispered back, pecking her lightly before he withdrew, running his hands through his hair. “That was certainly a better welcome than I’d expected.”

“I told you I missed you,” Tirnalil murmured sleepily. 

“Will you stay with me while I try to get clean again?” Fili asked while he pulled the drain with one hand and turned on the faucet with the other once the water level had dropped by a third. 

“Yes, then I’ll wash up after you. I’ll admit wet clothes weren’t in my agenda for tonight either.”

“I’ll be quick then.”

“Mm,” Tirnalil hummed with a yawn as she rested her head over her arms against the side of the tub, shutting her eyes and letting herself drift off into a light sleep.

Fili worked quickly, running the washcloth roughly over his skin until he glowed a pale pink, then let the water drain once more before refilling it once more for Tirnalil. While it was still almost painfully hot to the touch, he toweled himself off and slipped a robe around his shoulders, tying it loosely at his waist. She looked like the picture of perfection as she dozed, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Mahal, he’d missed her so much.

Carefully, he knelt beside her and shook her awake. “Bath’s ready for you. Do you still feel up to having dinner with the company later?”

Tirnalil stretched her arms out ahead of her, letting her fingertips dip into the water. With a pleased groan that did horrible things to Fili’s self control, she smiled up at him through her eyelashes and patted his cheek again, running her fingers through his still damp hair. Then she nodded and let her eyes shut again.

Fili laughed and gently pulled her hand away from his hair so he could catch her under the arms and help her to her feet. “I’m the one who got to release, how are you the one that is so tired?”

Tirnalil buried her face against his neck, inhaling the light scent of roses with a happy hum. “Ori had to fetch me from the library to meet you,” she said by way of explanation.

“Tirnalil,” Fili muttered slowly, stretching out every syllable to catch her attention. Finally, she let her head tip back to look at him with what could only be described as a pout on her face. “The sooner you get washed up, the sooner you can get some sleep before dinner.”

Those were apparently the key words because at long last, Tirnalil peeled herself off of Fili and instead shooed him back out of their bathroom. Mercifully, between the time it took to get a fire started and find a clean pair of trousers, Fili hardly had to wait much longer than that for Tirnalil to reappear, appearing just as tired as before, but with dripping wet hair and a robe pulled closely around her slender frame. Without stopping to change into something else, she slid under the covers and wormed her way across until she was pressed up against his side, pulling his arm around her before she stretched her arm across his stomach.

While his One slept beside him, Fili thought back on what Tauriel had shared with him during their time in the wilds. He had, of course, expected that Kili would ask the elf to accompany them and had welcomed her presence. The dwarves had made it clear that they only followed the prince as a safety measure due to the extreme cold; the success of the hunt had to be left up to him, from tracking their quarry, to taking it down. Still, during the nights when they pushed through the snow in search of firewood, she shared stories of the dragon while they’d lived together in Mirkwood, before she was sent away.

He learned so much about the early days that he could only hope he might one day hear from Tirnalil herself. Most days he tried to keep his mind from wandering to what ifs. Too much was still unknown about her condition. She’d traded one curse for another, of that much he was certain, but he could not, nor would he ever, hold it against her.

If he’d been given the same choice, he honestly couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the same thing. Tirnalil had already lived for centuries before they’d ever even met, alone and afraid, forced to hide under the protection of elves. For years, she had lived with the knowledge that she would spend the entirety of her ageless existence alone. Then, thanks to the meddling of one wizard, their paths crossed, setting into motion a plan only the Valar could see, the only plan it seemed that appeared capable of ending Tirnalil’s lonely existence. Mortality was a small price to pay for a chance at happiness. If he’d had to endure the same loneliness for half as long as she had, Fili wouldn’t have done any differently. She had suffered enough already. When the time came, he would let her pass in peace. She deserved as much.

He only hoped he could enjoy her warmth beside him for a few more mornings.

* * *

Between Fili and Bofur, Tirnalil made rapid progress on both fronts. Under Fili’s tutelage she learned to set crystals and attach them to rings to be hung or rings to be worn. The edges were rough compared to the typical fare sold at the markets of Dale, but she improved with each day. Bofur was the better teacher of the two, though Tirnalil kept that knowledge to herself. The dwarf never failed to make her laugh as they worked, often bursting into this song or that story, until he decided to call it a day. He’d taught her the basic cuts she would need to make nearly anything she liked, but promised to teach her to make jointed dolls if she wanted a real challenge.

For her first project, he asked her to make an egg, just a smooth egg to start, then if it passed muster, to add decoration to it. They worked across from each other for several days, and to her credit, she had made it several of them without incident, and finally got the go ahead to work barehanded. From then on her pace quickened, no longer hampered by the too-large gloves, and she could achieve finer detail.

Slowly, as the days passed, an egg began to take shape from the block of pine. Then, it began to acquire scales, looping curves carved their way into its surface until she declared it finished and presented it to her teacher.

“A dragon’s egg! By my beard, you’re a quick study!” Bofur exclaimed and sprang from his seat to wrap her into a hug. “Well, then, my work’s finished. You’re a fine student, Tirnalil. What will you make next?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered shyly, scratching the back of her head. Then she cradled the egg between her hands, spinning it round and round, a smile breaking over her face as she traced the scales with a fingertip before. “I’m sorry that we did not meet under better circumstances, but do you think I could call you a friend?”

Bofur beat a fist against his chest in mock affront with a theatrical gasp, “Bless me, here I thought we’d been friends all along! Why of course, it would be an honor if you called me your friend. I’m sorry as well, for all that’s happened. I hope I have earned your forgiveness.”

She raised her head with a coy smile and twinkling eyes. “Translate for Bifur for me, and we shall be even.”

“Easy enough,” Bofur chuckled and bowed dramatically. “Come with me.”

It was difficult to ask the right questions without cluing in either of the dwarves to her intentions, but Tirnalil managed to learn enough about the linguistically challenged dwarf to have a basic idea of what she could make for him. From what she gathered, he hadn’t been able to join the old hunting parties at the Blue Mountains for several years following his accident with the orcs that left him with an axe embedded in his skull. While he could converse well enough in Iglishmek in close quarters, the hand language did not lend itself well to making quick decisions in the heat of the hunt, especially on the darker nights.

Thanking them both, Tirnalil made note of what she could make for Bifur, then continued down her list of dwarves. However, when she approached Ori, her visit served two purposes. Thankfully, Balin had been in the library as well when she found him, and she did not have the heart to ask him to leave.

“I need you to write a will for me,” she asked, and she was certain the younger dwarf would have cracked his skull on a nearby table if Balin hadn’t been there to catch him.

Oin’s smelling salts came in handy to help bring him back around. “What for?” he asked shakily.

“It’s better he hears it from you, than from me,” Balin said before Tirnalil could suggest otherwise.

“Balin knows the whole story,” she began anyway, casting him a sideways glance, “but the short of it is that I’m dying, Ori, and I’m afraid I don’t have long. I need you to write my will so that Fili does not take the blame for my death.”

“Why me? Why not Balin?”

“Because there is something else I must ask of you,” she said slowly, weighing each of her words carefully as she studied his reaction. 

With a gulp, Ori seemed to work past his own welling emotions and swallowed them down, at last nodding his head. He pulled a handful of blank pages towards him and readied his quill over the top of the first page. “Let’s get started on the will then.”

“Thank you, Ori.”

Balin stood from his seat, patted Tirnalil’s shoulder, and wandered off out the library doors, mumbling something about fetching them some tea. Tirnalil was grateful for his departure as much as it saddened her to admit it. The sudden quiet in the library save for the scratching of Ori’s quill across the parchment made everything feel too real. If she listened closely, she could hear the small hitches in the dwarf’s breath as he came to the same realization. But it had to be done.

She could not leave her dwarves without saying goodbye. She could not leave behind the ones who’d seen her this far.

Finally, satisfied with what they’d drafted over the last hour, Ori tucked away the sheets bearing her will and turned toward her, eyes puffy with unshed tears. He sniffled but did not let them fall.

“Thank you, Ori,” she repeated herself through her own tears.

“What else did you need from me? I’d do anything to make up for the way we treated you,” he promised, grasping both of her hands in his and shaking them fiercely. 

She smiled, but it was hollow. “You have to promise you’ll keep it secret from the others, can you do that for me?”

“Anything.”

Ori led her back to his rooms, a level below the royal wing, and retrieved a small key from one of his wardrobe drawers before shuffling back down the hall until they’d reached a tapestry of a unicorn fighting a dragon. With a meaningful glance her way, he pulled back the bottom right corner of the wall hanging to expose a cleverly disguised keyhole in the stone behind it, slipping the key inside and giving it a twist. Just below it, the stone shifted and with a careful hand, he was able to push it aside to reveal a secret alcove behind the tapestry, scarcely big enough for a single dwarf but more than enough to hide a few presents.

“This is the only key so even if anyone knew about this, they couldn’t access it themselves.”

“This is perfect,” Tirnalil whispered, pulling the stone back over the opening and slipping the key around her neck. “Thank you.”

Ori then lost his battle against his tears, shaking his sleeve over his wrist before wiping under his eyes, sobbing heartily. He fell against her as she pulled him close, swaying him gently back and forth until the worst had subsided. He couldn’t remember a time he’d been so overcome. All through the many months in the wilderness he’d been overcome with fear that they might never reach the mountain, that they might never succeed in their quest, but that fear paled in comparison to the surety of the sorrow that faced him now. He wailed silently against Tirnalil and hated himself for it.

It wasn’t fair. Just when he thought they’d gotten everything they could’ve ever hoped for. They’d won back the mountain, Dale would be rebuilt, Thorin was King, and those in the Blue Mountains could return to their real home come spring. And Tirnalil would be there beside them, a friend, an equal.

When he finally felt as close as he could get to normal, he pulled away and took a deep breath. “Oh, Tirnalil, I’m so sorry. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with, alright?”

“You’ve been brilliant, Ori, really, thank you,” she said, hugging him once more before she let him return to Balin in the library. She still had to work through what she could give to the two more scholarly dwarves, but she had a good idea of where to start.

She got through most of the Company without attracting their suspicion until she reached Dwalin. There was a reason she had him towards the end of her list. Well, multiple reasons, one for Grasper, one for Keeper, and after that his knuckle dusters. On a good day, he seemed tense and unapproachable. On a bad day, Tirnalil tried her best to stay well away from the dwarf. Tauriel simply shook her head when she noticed Tirnalil mumbling an elvish prayer for luck at the dinner table and ruffled her friend’s hair before she followed Kili out. 

It had been one of the rare dinners that she’d actually been able to attend, thankfully a small one for the Company only, and Fili had regretfully, but luckily for Tirnalil, gone ahead with Thorin to discuss important trade matters, leaving Dwalin to follow after them.

She didn’t know whether to count it as a blessing that Dwalin didn’t regard her as a threat when he turned his back to her, but it made it easier to slide out of her seat and cut directly across his path, hastily raising both hands in front of her out of habit. He drew up short immediately and stared down his nose at her, raising a single eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” he asked gruffly.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she started, but under the coolness of his stare, she felt herself falter and she shrank inwards on herself. “I still have yet to test myself with the greatsword Thorin gave me. I haven’t had a fainting spell in a while. I think it’s time I learned.”

Dwalin chuffed and shook his head. “I know what yer doin’, lass.”

“What’s that?”

His heavy hand fell on her shoulder and he tapped his thumb until she forced herself to meet his eyes. He sighed heavily and spoke the truth, “Yer sayin’ goodbye.”

Tirnalil’s composure shattered and she fell against him.

“Ah, don’t go cryin’ on me, lass.” To his credit, Dwalin only froze for a moment before he pulled her into a hug and patted her on her back. He let her cry it out, without a care to the condition of his now damp coat, and continued to rock her gently back and forth, waiting for her to pull away herself. Truth to be told, he’d been waiting for her to come round to him.

He’d seen her working through the others, and at first, he’d suspected nothing. She was simply making more of an overt effort to befriend the very same dwarves who’d nearly let her run herself to the ground for a quest she had no business sacrificing herself for. They were dwarves, they showed their affections differently, and though their debts to her could not simply be paid by a single exchange of gifts, it was a start. It would take time to repair the damage they’d done, but Dwalin had been a fool to think time was something they would have. 

“Shhh, ye’ll be right, ye’ll be right. Jus’ let it out.”

Finally, Tirnalil dried her eyes on her sleeve and pushed herself free of the dwarf, stumbling back over the table and falling into the first seat she could reach. She tiredly rubbed her hands over her face before she leaned forward in the seat and sighed dramatically heavily. “How did you know?”

Dwalin gave up all thoughts of following his king and instead took the seat beside Tirnalil, offering his hand out to her. When she accepted, he patted the back of her hand gently. “Seen it before, in the dwarrowdams who’d lost their Ones to a tunnel collapse back in Ered Luin. They mourn for a time, as much as you’d expect, then they turn sunshine and rainbows, visit all their friends one las’ time, then they’re gone. Except ye’ve come too far. Ye can’t leave us, not this soon.”

Tirnalil slid her hand out of Dwalin’s and brought it to his cheek instead, turning his face up to meet her eyes this time. She looked so tired in that moment, and he felt his heart break for the poor creature. She whispered in that painfully broken voice, “I’m afraid it is not my choice, Dwalin. I’m dying.”

“‘M sorry, lass,” he said and he meant every word. “The elves could do nothin’ for ye?”

“There is nothing to be done,” she shook her head and curled her arms around herself. “It has been a long time coming, and I have made my peace with it.”

“Aye, and Fili?” He hated to ask it of her, but dwarves only loved once and the boy was young, too young to be thrust into such sorrow.

Tears sprang up anew in Tirnalil’s eyes, and she rubbed her face raw trying to stop them. “He knows.”

“Bless my beard, ‘m very sorry. Suppose that means he’s the one that taught you to forge?”

She nodded.

He clapped his hands against his knees and stood all at once, towering over the dragon, frozen in her sadness. He did not wait for her assent before he hoisted her to her feet by her shoulders, stunning her back into alertness. Dwalin would not necessarily say he smiled, but if perhaps it had been attempted, it was a very good thing that only Tirnalil was there to witness it. At any rate, it was worth the flash of embarrassment to hear her laugh again. “Then best not let his talents go to waste. What do ye need from me?”

“Just your time, Dwalin, time and conversation. I would like to be able to call you a friend before I go. You don’t even have to train me to use the sword.”

“It would be my honor.” Then he laughed, deep from his belly. “But you’re going to learn to use that sword!”

Tirnalil would never admit it to Fili, but despite his enthusiasm and undeniable skill, he was not the best instructor. According to Dwalin, that happened when you learned off the back of your own natural talent and ingenuity. He’d said that all dwarves typically fell into one of a number of techniques, practicing until they became masters of their craft, but always putting their own sort of maker’s mark on their work. It didn’t have to be intentional either, like a signature, or a stamp, or a brand. It could be the way they pieced together a glass sculpture or how they left their work rough or smoothed it down to the last, unnoticeable detail. But Fili’s always changed, his style so fluid, he moved between projects like a bird flitting between the trees.

Dwalin worked more like a steady river cutting a path through the mountains. He brought down his hammer with such a steady rhythm it would have lulled her to sleep if not for the ringing volume of its strikes against the anvil. There was a definite pattern to his work where, with Fili, it had been about minute adjustments, always making minor tweaks, but Tirnalil supposed that was something to expect, the difference between a jeweller and a weaponsmith. In between beating a sword into shape, while splashing water across his face to rinse the sweat from his eyes, they would talk and Tirnalil would learn more about what life had been like in Ered Luin and in the wilds before they made it to those faraway mountains, what it had been like to be the guard of a king without a kingdom.

Tirnalil was sad to have to cut their time short, but surprisingly, it was Dwalin who offered to come fetch her in the morning to continue their progress. That was an offer she was more than glad to accept.

When at last, Tirnalil returned to her chambers and climbed into bed next to an already sleeping Fili, she felt happier, strangely, happier than she’d been in days despite the somber nature of her private little mission. A little late, but she was making progress, making friends.

“ _Tirnalil_ ,” called the sweet whisper in the dark of the night, pulling her out of the sleep she’d fallen into curled against Fili’s side.

She’d been accustomed to warmth when she slept beside him, but the warmth she felt now, it was strange. It pulsed like a heart, or like the crashing of waves against the shore, rising and falling, but always reaching higher and higher, until she was filled with that burning heat. With a gasp, she forced her eyes open, shutting them at once when she saw the unearthly figures before her.

The bright halo of light behind Yavanna’s golden hair nearly blinded her, but slowly Tirnalil adjusted and looked around her. They were back again in that dark emptiness when she’d died upon the hill, and for a moment she was frightened. Then, the searing heat of a forge, and Aulë lifted her to her feet, his hands like brands at her shoulders. She sobbed even as Yavanna cupped her head in her hands and pressed the most gentle kiss to her forehead, willing her to stop her tears.

“ _Tirnalil_ ,” her voice whispered again, and Tirnalil could not look away. “ _Have you made your peace with death? Will you come with us?_ ”

She shook her head rapidly, clutching the silver lace at the front of Yavanna’s glimmering robes. “ _No, you can’t, I’m not ready_ ,” she wailed. 

“ _Little one_ ,” Aulë started and gently eased Tirnalil away from his wife, turning her towards him instead. _“You have a strong heart, but your body is fading. You must come with us.”_

Tirnalil dropped to her knees before the Maker and begged, “ _I can’t. Please. I just need a little more time. Let me stay with him_.”

The two spirits seemed to share a thought as they watched Tirnalil at their feet, and moving as mirrors to each other, they brought her back to her feet and smiled. But it was an empty smile. Yavanna let her hand fall over Tirnalil’s chest, resting over her heart as she used her other to tuck a stray hair behind Tirnalil’s ear. 

The same warmth she’d felt before returned again, and she could have screamed. Maybe she did scream. It tore through her heart, burning her from the inside out. She struggled to keep an eye on them through the haze of the scorching pain, but eventually, her knees lost the fight.

As she fell to the floor of that inky blackness, she distantly heard Aulë offer his final words on the matter, “ _I have given you more time, but when the days grow warm and the nights short, we shall come again. Go in peace, little one._ ”

Tirnalil didn’t wait for Dwalin to come find her in the morning. By luck, she’d managed to slip away from Fili without stirring him to wakefulness. Throwing a heavy cloak around her shoulders, she glanced over her shoulder at him one more time before she bolted out into the night. No one stopped her as she continued at a sprint, only slowing once she reached the gate. The biting cold stung her cheeks, but she soldiered on. Saddling the first pony who did not seem opposed to a midnight ride, Tirnalil burst forth from the stables into the flurry beyond.

By the light of the moon and the stars above, and by the burning sensation that she still carried within her heart, Tirnalil let the pony carry her over the snow, drawing it to a stop before the ring of stones, where she collapsed to all fours before them. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she searched for the carvings that would tell her which belonged to Yavanna and to Aulë, but between the darkness and the effects of time and weather on the stones, they could tell her nothing. Instead, she beat her fists against the nearest one until her hands dripped scarlet against the field of white and screamed until her throat burned with the same intensity that her heart did.

Full of anguish, she turned her eyes upwards to the stars above and simply let herself cry.

Finally exhausted and empty, she forced her way back through the snow that had accumulated over her earlier footsteps back to where she’d left her pony.

The pony that had, unfortunately, sometime during her tantrum had abandoned her in favor of seeking some shelter.

Dale was closer than the mountain at least and better lit. Cursing everything that had ever led her to this moment, Tirnalil lifted her skirts and pressed on. What other choice did she have?

For the second time in as many months, Thranduil shocked her by being the one to open the door to the king’s hall.

“Tirnalil?” he said in a puzzled tone before the last tendrils of sleep left him and he hastily hauled her inside, cradling her against his chest, to the newly redone bedchambers of the king, miraculously now separate from wherever the children slept. He scarcely gave her a moment to even wonder at his familiarity with the space before he stoked the embers of the dying fire into new life. Content with the way the flames licked at the logs he’d tossed into the hearth, he stood at last and turned back to assess his charge with a careful hand.

“Tirnalil, what are you doing here? You can’t have walked here from the mountain.”

That’s right. Bard was here too. But why had Thranduil taken her to Bard’s bedchambers, why not his own? At least a guest room.

 _Oh_.

“Are you two courting as well?” she mumbled instead before slipping out of Thranduil’s grasp and slumping back against the sheets, eyes screwed shut. She waved a hand lazily in the air above her before curling herself into a tight ball. “Not that you shouldn’t be. You deserve to be happy.”

“Tirnalil!” Thranduil hissed while Bard only laughed incredulously at the strange turn of events.

He shuffled off the edge of the bed, tugging at the waist of his trousers so they sat higher over his hips, and searched for spare clothes in the dresser that might fit the incredibly small stature of the little dragon, all while chuckling to himself at the thought of just how red the Elvenking’s face flushed to be so discovered. Failing to find anything more suitable, he opted for a tunic that he was certain would hang from Tirnalil’s shoulders and tossed it her way.

She lifted her head only a smidgeon at the impact and dropped it back to the rumpled sheets with a groan. “What’d you just throw at me?”

Thranduil shook her awake, and she hadn’t even realized that she’d fallen asleep. “Tirnalil! You need to change into something dry. You’re nearly frozen through.”

“Mm, can it wait?” she murmured, still refusing to look at either of the men.

Above her, they shared a glance, and Bard crossed the room to pat Thranduil on the back before he threw on his coat and grinned tiredly. “Take care of her, Thran. I’ll wake the postmaster and have a raven sent to the mountain, shouldn’t take too long.”

“Be safe,” Thranduil whispered in return then he turned his full attention to the nearly unconscious creature before him.

This was not at all how he expected his night to go.

By the time, Bard returned, Thranduil and the children were seated around the long table in the front hall, all of them nursing hot drinks, all of them in varying states of wakefulness. He smiled when he spotted Tilda sitting happily, although tiredly, in the lap of the Elvenking. He bent over to kiss his little darling on the cheek then pressed a second kiss to the cheek of the king.

“How is she,” he asked, stealing the elf’s mug to take a sip for himself.

Thranduil rolled his eyes but chose not to comment on the theft. “Sleeping now, but she is no longer in danger.”

“That’s good,” Bard said with a nod, then he let himself drop unceremoniously at the seat that Thranduil had left for him at the head of the table. He nudged Sigrid’s hand, trying to hide his chuckle when she jolted awake and spilled a drop of her drink on her hand.

“Da!” she chastised and slapped his hand in return.

“What are you three doing awake then?”

Thranduil groaned and hugged Tilda tight as a means of hiding his face behind the fall of his hair. “For someone fighting just to stay awake, she can still fight like a bear if she means to.”

“Oh, no, now I have to see,” Bard snickered and stretched his arm across to tip Thranduil’s face towards him. There it was, a slowly darkening bruise just under his left eye. “One, how did she even manage? Two, how did that wake the children?”

Now it was Sigrid’s turn to hide her mirth.

“What did you do?”

Thranduil graciously let Tilda down to the floor so she could crawl to her father’s lap instead. With a completely straight face, he admitted, “She startled me,” then he lost face and muttered under his breath while picking at a stain on the wood with a finely manicured fingernail, “I may have lost my temper.”

“And?” Bard fished.

The Elvenking sighed and pursed his lips, to the amusement of all three children, and when the corner of his lips twitched upwards, it was clear he was dragging out his speech for their benefit. Bard considered it a rare sight and promised himself to commit it to memory. “And I may have shouted at her. In Sindarin. Then again in Westron. More than once.”

“It’s all fine now, Da. Even if I had to come help just to get her changed into something dry, but she’s fine now,” Sigrid explained, still trying not to give in to her laughter. She lost her battle at around the same time Thranduil did, his shoulders shaking even as he tried to cover his smile behind his hands.

Clearly the lack of sleep and the early wake up call had ruined all of them, and Bard told them as much as he shepherded them back to their rooms before returning to the front hall where Thranduil now rested his head on the tabletop. When he realized Bard had come back to him, he stretched out a hand and shut his eyes.

Bard obliged with a chuckle and grabbed it as he pulled his chair close.

“I should have moved her to sleep with Tilda, now we are the ones without a bed.”

“There is the bench at the foot of the bed,” Bard teased.

He was answered with another groan and Thranduil rolled his neck til he could pin his glower on Bard, though much of the effect was lost by the disheveled state of his hair and the pretty bruise under his eye.

“Don’t worry, she’s your charge, and she’s less than half your size. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sharing the bed with you. Meanwhile, I’m fine taking the bench. I’ve made do with less, and it’s not a poorly made bench either. I will live.”

“Bard,” Thranduil whined though the sound was stretched out by the yawn it turned into against his better wishes.

The King of Dale pulled the King of the Woodland Realm upright and led him back to their room with a steady guiding hand, leaning him back against the sheets gently. While Thranduil rolled over to lay a hand across Tirnalil’s forehead, Bard busied himself by hanging up his coat and unlacing his boots hopefully for the last time that night. With one last wish for a good night, he pulled the spare, and honestly decorative, blanket over himself and let the need for sleep overtake him. If Tirnalil’s condition changed in the night, certainly Thranduil would be capable of dealing with it. The elf only would be more wary a second time around to avoid another strike to his pretty face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, as always, please leave a comment or a kudos, let me know if you liked this or are just here to get some closure after over 100k words of investment.
> 
> Only one chapter left. It's mostly unwritten at this point so some things could still change, but it might also be a while before I get it polished and posted. Who thought a fic I started in February would be finished in April, let alone during a pandemic? I can barely believe this will be my legacy, lol.
> 
> I wrote fanfic while I was sheltering in place. Nice. V nice. 
> 
> Stay safe, friends!


	12. This is the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of an unexpected journey, and the closing of a chapter.
> 
> "If you ever should lose heart, follow my love from afar."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's songs are "Always Home," by Leucadia, followed by "Look After You," by Aaron Wright.

She knew how lucky she was. How lucky she was to have Fili. How lucky she was that he had not woken up when she’d left him in the middle of the night to steal a pony and strand herself in the woods in the middle of the night. In winter. How lucky she was that she’d made it into Dale without passing out first. How lucky she made it all the way to the king’s hall.

She knew how lucky she was, but lucky was not the word she would’ve picked for herself.

No, no, no, no, no, she shook her head vigorously as if it would rid herself of those thoughts. It was not a good path to follow.

Bard had apparently sent a raven to the mountain, but the matter had not been deemed urgent enough to wake the prince seeing as Tirnalil had been declared to be under the care of the Elvenking. Still, that it had not been called urgent hardly changed how the princeling felt about the matter. Nearly as soon as he’d awoken and barely restrained himself from barging into Thorin’s own bedchambers in a panic, Fili had been set on retrieving Tirnalil at their earliest convenience. A few more ravens made the journey to Dale and back to dissuade him from doing exactly that. In the end, they’d settled on waiting until Tirnalil woke up on her own before sending her back with a full escort. 

So it was that Bard and Thranduil rode to either side of her atop their own horses while she rode in between on a borrowed pony, its reins in Thranduil’s hands to keep her from wandering off, she supposed, but she tried not to let it bother her. They were right not to trust her. She dreaded the thought of seeing Fili now, of having to tell him why she’d left.

She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t.

How could she?

_I’m so sorry, Fili, but I will never see another winter. I will never get to see Erebor to its first celebration of Durin’s Day since the fall of Smaug. As the summer solstice passes, or perhaps before if Aulë tires of waiting for me to be ready, I will pass with it._

If she was truly lucky, she’d get to meet his mother. If she was truly lucky, maybe his mother wouldn’t beat her to death herself for breaking her son’s heart. She wouldn’t stop her either.

Bard’s sharp inhale alerted her to their arrival before the gates, and she slid off the pony’s back with a miserable expression. Thranduil dropped down from his stallion without a sound and gathered her into his arms, promising to stand beside her on their final approach to Erebor.

The entirety of Thorin’s company stood there to welcome her back, and she nearly wrenched herself free of Thranduil’s grasp to bolt once more. He knew it too, his grip on her shoulder turning to iron, even though neither his stoic expression nor his pace ever changed. Man and elf on one end of the heavy drawbridge and the dwarves on the other, on another day, Tirnalil might have laughed at how much it looked like a hostage exchange. Today her spirits were too solemn for it.

Fili broke first, and it killed her. She shut her eyes against the swirling mix of confusion and pain in his golden eyes and turned away. Even when Thranduil released her into Fili’s arms, she could not bring herself to return his hug, shaking like a leaf despite his touch.

She was lucky to have Fili. She knew it. She was lucky to have him, to have someone who decided in that moment that he would not press her about why she’d left him.

He thanked Thranduil and Bard, who’d stepped up beside him, and made his way back into the mountain in silence with Tirnalil tucked under his arm. None of the others stopped him although Thorin and Bilbo both extended their thanks to the two kings in turn and an offer to stay for supper. Mercifully, the Elvenking declined, and Bard with him, citing that he had left the children in a state and could no longer bear to be parted from them, not knowing what mischief they might have conjured up for themselves unsupervised. It was a flimsy excuse, Bilbo’s smirk said it, even if the hobbit did not speak it aloud.

If Fili held her tighter for fear of losing her again, Tirnalil merely let him. She clung to him in answer, sliding her hands under his shirt to settle at his hips as they stood just inside the doorway to their rooms, and let herself cry silently into his shoulder.

When she finished, Fili reluctantly pulled away to pour them each a glass of water before he brought her to the armchair in front of the fire, inviting her onto his lap. His eyes still wet with tears he wouldn’t allow to fall, Tirnalil could not find it in her to deny him. She had missed his warmth. She fell into his arms happily and sighed into his embrace.

It had been late in the morning, closer to the afternoon, when they’d set out from Dale. Tirnalil could not guess how many hours had passed simply sitting there in his arms, but Fili never once made a move to leave his spot, aside from sipping at his glass every now and then.

Unwilling to break the silence herself, she inhaled the scent of fire mixed with the undercurrent of the forest from his skin and tentatively sought out his hand, threading her fingers with his when he didn’t pull away.

That was the pebble that broke the dam. 

“Tir, I won’t ask you why you left or why you came back. I just- I need to know if you want to keep doing this. I never asked because you were so tired after, but it’s part of the tradition, so I have to,” he rambled, before he forced himself to pause and take a deep breath, “but did I prove my worthiness as a suitor or do you no longer wish to continue?”

Tirnalil repeated the words Balin had trained into her though she struggled to put her heart behind them, “I have accepted your gift, and we may continue.”

Fili nodded a couple times mutely and slid his hand out of Tirnalil’s before she could stop him. “You don’t have to say it at all if your heart isn’t in it. You don’t have to say yes if it’s not what you want. Just, please, Tir, please don’t lie to me. Don’t string me along.”

She inhaled sharply and grabbed his hand again, bringing it to rest over her heart. “I’m not lying, trust me, can you feel my heart beating for you? I wouldn’t lie to you about this, about our courtship. I just need you to understand I need some time. Something happened, and I just need time to work through it. Please, Fi, I need you to trust me.”

“How can I? You left me?”

She bit her lip and ducked her head away from him, squeezing his hand tight before she let him go with a sigh. “I left because I was afraid.”

Rolling off his lap, she crawled towards the fireplace until she could feel the heat against her skin and the crackle of the flames in her ears. Then, she thrust her hand into the flames. Though she flinched, she felt no pain. Not even when she picked up the charred end of one of the logs.

“What are you doing,” Fili shouted as he dropped to his knees behind her and dragged her away from the flames. When he pulled at her arm and scanned it for damage that wasn’t there, he blinked at her, jaw slack in disbelief.

“I had to know something,” she said quietly and wormed her way back out of his grip.

“What does it mean? Is the curse coming back?”

“I don’t think so, but like I said. I need time and I need you to trust me, trust that I will not leave you again.”

“Tirnalil,” Fili said, and his expression broke her heart. “Tirnalil, the next step after the hunt is about trust. I am trying to trust you. I _want_ to trust you, but I don’t even know if you trust me. Whatever is happening with you, you can tell me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Just talk to me, Tir.”

“I can’t, not about this, not yet!” Tirnalil shouted and pushed herself away from the hearth, jostling Fili’s shoulder when she pushed past him as well.

“Tirnalil!” he called after her.

She whirled on him instead with a look halfway between sorrow and rage. “No, you said you wouldn’t ask me why I left. So, please, drop it. Drop it, or I will drop this courtship.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t want to end this, Fili, but if you can’t trust me on this, I will. Please, just trust me, trust me that I will come back.”

Fili took a deep breath and leaned his back against the side of the fireplace. He couldn’t meet her eyes, and Tirnalil simply nodded and headed back towards the door, pausing with her hand already over the doorknob. “I said I would wait, and I will keep my promise. Just don’t make me wait too long. Please.”

“I will come back to you, Fili, I promise,” and with that, she disappeared back into the hallway and away from him.

When Balin found her digging through the library’s books, he almost couldn’t believe his eyes. He would have thought she’d spend a little more time with Fili after her midnight adventure and subsequent brush with death. She didn’t even blink when he drew up alongside her, scanning over the titles she’d pulled down so far.

“Er, Tirnalil, what’s with the, um, sudden interest in the seasons? I’m afraid astronomy has not long been a very large field of interest amongst dwarves. What are you looking for? Perhaps I can be of some assistance,” he said, but none of his words appeared to reach her.

With an aggravated huff, she cast down yet another book. “Do you have anything written in Westron, or Sindarin even?”

Balin rushed to gather up the books and nodded solemnly to himself, the gesture lost to the dragon grasping the shelves with white knuckles. “Perhaps, you’d better tell me what this is really about,” he lowered his voice and patted her shoulder, but left his hand there until she finally abandoned her attack on his books to crumple to the floor, her legs folding beneath her. 

Her breath escaped her as little hiccups and she turned her eyes to the stone floors. “I need to know when the solstice will fall this year.”

“What for?”

“Would you believe me if I said gardening?” Tirnalil laughed hollowly, tilting her head back to roll her eyes at him. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just,” she waved her hand in the air, “it’s just a lot going on right now.”

“Does it have to do with why you ran away in the night?”

Tirnalil groaned and pulled her knees up to her chest even, scooting herself back until her back leaned against the shelves. “I wasn’t running _away_ , I was running _to_ something, to a place that Tilda showed me.”

“Mm, and can you tell me about this place you were running to?”

“Before Smaug came and destroyed everything, did you ever know of a place in the woods just beyond Dale, a shrine or a temple built to honor the Aratar, the Valar?”

The old dwarf stroked his beard in thought and leaned back against the shelves along with her though he remained standing, certain his old bones would not take kindly to the chill of the stone. He hummed after a long while, turning his head this way and that before he shuffled to another aisle, out of sight. When he returned, he returned with a rolled up scroll that he very, very carefully stretched out for her inspection. 

“Did it look something like this?”

Scratched onto the parchment in black ink but embellished with drops of color and gold foil faded by age stood the hall of the Holy Ones, as it had been intended to be viewed. Its current state held little actual resemblance to its original splendor, but it was enough. The eight stones erected in the center of the clearing, surrounded by slender branched white trees with leaves the color of a glittering emerald spotted with flowers the color of rubies and of fire, and at the base of each, a series of raised steps. Upon the highest step sat a three-armed candelabra and to either side burning sticks of incense. Below them were offerings to each of them, presented by the illustrated gathering of elves and men with the odd dwarf sprinkled throughout, though the majority presented their gifts only to the stones bearing carvings of grain and of industry, the pillars erected to celebrate the Giver of Grains and the Maker.

“What happened to it,” she asked softly, returning the scroll to Balin to tuck it back into its protective case.

“I’m afraid I don’t rightly now. I never saw it in person myself, but it was gone long before Smaug razed the mountainside. What brought you to that place?”

“I don’t know, Balin, I don’t know why I thought it, but I had hoped that I could talk to them, to Yavanna or to Aulë, or Mahal, whatever names they would answer to. I just wanted to talk to them, to ask them for guidance or for help, or just to complain, _I don’t know._ I just, I couldn’t be _here_.”

Having strapped the case shut, Balin set it aside and hesitantly offered Tirnalil a hand. When she turned her head away instead, he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know I care about you deeply, Tirnalil, and that everything I do henceforth is only in the interest of helping you. However, I will not let my care for you supersede my loyalty to my king and to the princes.”

That brought her attention rapidly back around, and she glared through a veil of tears. She hissed at him, “What will you do?”

“I told you before, I may be old, but I am not yet blind. Something has happened to make you like this, so afraid that you would run, you would cut yourself off from the one who has promised to stay beside you to the end. But you’ve seen something, haven’t you? That’s why you’re so frightened. You’re desperate, Tirnalil.”

Tirnalil’s growl dropped in pitch and her eyes flashed dangerously as she hissed again, “What do you intend to do?”

When she unfurled her limbs about her and climbed back to her feet, she looked less like an Easterling and more like the dragon, and for a moment, Balin was struck dumb by fear of dragonfire. He stood firm and met her glare coolly. “If you won’t tell Fili, then I will.”

He felt the warm trickle of blood down the back of his neck before it registered that she’d launched her full weight against him. Small as she might be, with legs coiled to spring, she’d managed to knock him off balance and pin him against one of the marble columns along the wall of the library, snarling savagely in his face, spittle flying from her lips. Even as his heartbeat raced a rabbit’s pace at his throat, he struggled to keep calm. Refocusing his eyes on the swirling black orbs before him, Balin fought to raise his arms to her shoulders. 

In answer, the dragon roared, pressing their hands at his throat instead.

“Tirnalil, this...isn’t….you,” he gasped around the spasms of his abused throat, scrabbling to release her ever-tightening grip.

Just as black spots danced at the edge of his vision, the heavy bang of the library doors bought Balin the split second of distraction that he’d needed to make his escape. Her fingers slackened just enough and he twisted to the left while bringing up his right arm, forcing his shoulder to break past her outstretched arm. Then, he dropped out and away from her reach, partially collapsing against one of the shelves when his lungs reminded him they needed a moment to recover.

But Tirnalil did not pursue him. 

He turned to see why that was and was shocked to find her, or whatever it was possessing her body, still snarling even with both Grasper and Keeper poised to remove her head from her shoulders.

“Lass, I don’t advise ye continuin’ on like this,” Dwalin grumbled, though he seemed to know just as well as Balin that it wasn’t Tirnalil anymore. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his brother still leaning against the shelves and jerked his head toward the still open door. “Get out o’ here, get Thorin. Don’t let anyone else in. Fili doesn’t need to see this.”

By the time, Balin returned with Thorin behind him, Orcrist already drawn before they rounded the corner and before Balin could shut the doors after them, he spotted Tirnalil and Dwalin still in much the same position as they’d been in before his hasty retreat.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thorin hissed, readying his arm should the dragon feel the need to launch another attack despite its current closeness to the blades of Dwalin’s weapons. “I thought the dragon was gone.”

“Clearly not,” Dwalin huffed, tightening his grasp over the handles of his battleaxes.

“What happened here?” Thorin shouted for Balin, whose throat already darkened with bruises visible even past the cover of his long, white beard.

“I’m afraid I may have angered her, and perhaps it triggered something, but I cannot say exactly what,” Balin struggled to explain, wincing as his throat itched and burned with every word. “You can’t kill her. It would kill Fili.”

“It would be a mercy,” Dwalin said quietly, stunning Thorin beside him. “A mercy to end her now.”

Balin’s breath hitched. So he knew as well. From Thorin’s bewildered expression, however, Balin gathered that he was not so similarly enlightened. 

“We can’t, brother,” Balin said softly. “Not if she might still be in there.”

Dwalin sighed heavily and nodded at Thorin once. “I’ll distract, you incapacitate.”

It’s not her, it’s the dragon come back, it’s not Tirnalil.

We mustn’t hurt her.

Fili will have my head if I killed her now.

But would it be so bad? To give her a good death?

Only he wasn’t sure he could call it a good death. Gone was the soft, almost sickly sweet Tirnalil he’d come to know over the mornings they’d spent together. She really had been making strides with the greatsword forged from her tail blades, honestly faster than he’d expected for someone more accustomed to dueling with twin short swords of decidedly more elven make, but she was a quick study. While Dwalin could easily disarm her, the weapons he had now were not the blunted practice weapons they kept in the training rooms. Despite their combined years in the wilds and countless hours of training, this corruption of Tirnalil moved with a feral savagery that left few openings to disable her without also risking death.

Like a rabid animal, she charged and swiped at them with her fingers curled into claws, and Dwalin found himself stepping back to dodge. For every step gained, he lost two more.

Thorin fared no better across from him. He’d originally intended to draw her attention off him so he could move in and knock her out. He was smaller, more agile, compared to Dwalin’s bulk. Apparently, the dragon knew it as well. Despite the greater strength possessed by the larger of the two dwarves, it still elected to direct the majority of its efforts on the one that ultimately posed the greater threat. 

After the dragon had grabbed the blade of Orcrist and pushed it back towards the dwarf, Thorin had sheathed it to prevent further damage. Then the dragon reminded them of the inhuman ferocity of the beast. Unarmed, Thorin could only use the sword’s scabbard to block her attempts to shred his face with her claws, but then she wrenched from his grasp with a sudden surge of strength and flung it to the side. Completely without a defense, she turned back to the king with eyes so dark, so blank it was like staring into a starless night.

Dwalin had to take his chance.

There were only two options left, kill her now or keep stalling until she tired or they made their own fatal mistake.

While the dragon roared in the face of the king and raised back its arm, Dwalin mirrored it. As its arm sped towards Thorin’s face so too did Keeper slice through the air. At the very last second, he twisted his grip on the handle and the flat of the blade struck her in the shoulder midswing with devastating force. Her head snapped to the side as her body was tossed away from the space immediately in front of Thorin and instead into a shelf several feet away. If not for the fact that the shelves were rooted in the stone, Dwalin did not doubt the force of the blow would have toppled it. As it was, several of the books were shaken loose.

Even as books fell all around it, the dragon did not rise.

Panting heavily, Thorin wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced between the fallen creature and his friend. Exhausted beyond belief, he let his legs crumple beneath him.

Dwalin would have joined him, but he was not a stranger to a foe waking at the worst time. Whatever Tirnalil was now, it had to be dealt with while it was still weak and preferably while it was still unconscious. He stumbled over to her folded body and, kneeling beside her, rolled her onto her front. From what little he could see of her arm, it didn’t look good, and already he dreaded the inevitable discussion they would have to have with Fili. He’d definitely broken her arm.

Taking a length of rope he kept at his hip for the very specific purpose of dealing with thieves, he tied her other arm to the iron sconce bolted into the wall, pulling the rope taut before tying it off. With her dominant arm broken as it was, even if she managed to get herself standing again, she wouldn’t be able to free herself.

Finally, he dropped back onto the floor beside Thorin and let his arm rest over his eyes. Even at the sound of shuffling footsteps, he didn’t lift his arm again.

“What happened here,” Thorin repeated himself still a little breathless from the fight.

Balin spoke from above Dwalin. “I’m afraid I have no answer for that, my Lord.” He continued after no one else attempted to speak. “Fili will come looking for her eventually when she does not return to their rooms for the night.”

Dwalin groaned and forced himself to sit up with a wince. Though Tirnalil had gotten the worst of it, she had managed to land a swipe across his forearm before he could get his axe up to block, leaving three weeping lines of red. His pride hurt more than the actual flesh wound.

“Her arm’s broke. She’ll need to see Oin ‘fore long,” he said gruffly. 

“Brother!” Balin exclaimed, shocked that he’d done so much damage to their friend..

“Balin,” Thorin muttered, “Balin, there was no other choice. She would have fought until she had our backs to the wall. She would have _torn out my throat_ if Dwalin had not acted.”

“What now then?”

“As soon as I have my breath back, we bring her to Oin, keep her chained. I will not have her lose control again, not until we know why this is happening and how to keep it from happening again. She is not to leave the medical wing without my permission.”

“What of Fili,” Dwalin reminded the king, regretting it immediately when Thorin’s strong expression cracked. He was as reluctant to command as Dwalin was to suggest it. But what else could they do?

“You and Balin take her to Oin. I will speak to my sister-son.”

Dwalin had had to do many unsavoury things in the defense of his king, but few things had hurt his heart as badly as this. Even as Oin showed them to a locked ward at the very back of the infirmary, lighting the only torch in the small room, his heart ached for what he had to do. The healer did not defy him when urged to dose her heavily with the milk of the poppy, to buy him some time to find something strong enough to restrain her but not so heavy as to treat her like an animal. Oin did not comment on the _mithril_ that Dwalin had wrapped around the sleeping dragon’s wrist, screwing the two halves of the cuff right there, and slid the key to the padlock into a pocket close to his heart.

As much as he hurt now, he could not fathom what pain Thorin now faced.

* * *

Her ears felt like they’d been stuffed full of her cotton, her mouth like it had been filled with sand, and her eyes like someone had glued them shut. Her stomach, however, felt like someone had filled it full of worms, and she threw herself towards the side of the bed and retched until the feeling subsided. When she raised a hand to her mouth to wipe away her sick, or tried to, she found it immobilized across her chest, bound with a broad white cloth. When she tried to peek beneath it, the skin from her shoulder all the way down to her elbow was awash in a grotesque haze of purples and greens.

When she slumped back against the bed, she finally realized that the ceiling above her was not the ceiling of the chambers she shared with Fili. She sat up again and tried to slide her legs over the side of the bed, throwing the covers off with her free hand, but the clink of metal against metal caught her attention.

How had she not noticed it before? A lightweight band of shining silver had been wrapped over her hand, so lightweight it could only be mithril, but why had such a precious metal been used for such an obscene purpose, binding her to the bed with a matching mithril chain looped around the bed’s frame where it was locked with a heavy iron padlock. Surely, Fili wouldn’t have been so resentful of her leaving him in the middle of the night to chain her to a bed in some dark corner of Erebor. So, why then had she found herself trapped in such a manner?

She tried to search the room for clues, but between the singular flickering flame of the torch by the door, she had nothing to go by. Nothing except for the throbbing pain in her shoulder and the bandages wrapped around her hands. 

Squinting at the blood seeping into the linen, she struggled to remember, to think past the fog of whatever she’d been given for the pain.

Then the memories rushed in like a floodgate had been opened, and alone in her prison cell, for that’s surely where she deserved to be after what she’d done, she wept until she had no more tears left to cry.

She should have known better than to ask for more time. She had been such a fool. She’d gotten greedy, and now she paid for it. Of course, of course, any gift of more time could only be a poisoned gift. The dragon’s curse had been the only thing keeping her alive. It made sense bringing it back would be the only thing to grant her wish now. She should have just gone with them when they’d asked.

Maybe then, none of this would have ever happened. All the camaraderie she’d built up between the dwarrows, all the trust she’d fostered, all the genuine happiness she’d found, it was as if it had never happened.

Oin treated her well enough, but his movements were mechanical, his speech limited only to as many words as were strictly necessary to convey his demands. Roll over, turn back, raise your arm, never so much as a “how do you do?”

It hurt, and it was all her fault.

Thorin came to her at some point, she’d lost track of the days. He came with Dwalin right behind him, Dwalin who’d had three more scars on his left arm than she remembered him having before she woke up in the lonely little room.

“I did that, didn’t I?” she whispered under her breath. She hadn’t meant for him to hear her, but when his shoulders stiffened immediately after, he definitely had.

There were no answers she could give Thorin that would satisfy him. They never talked about Fili, though Tirnalil could not say whether that was for her benefit or for Thorin’s. She did not argue when he told her he could not yet release her. This was what only as much as she deserved.

A part of her thought back to the long days in Mirkwood. At least this time, the one in the cage deserved to be there. 

She had grown accustomed to Thorin and Dwalin always appearing in pairs, sometimes before, sometimes after Oin had checked her over for the day. Only when he’d told her to start practicing light range of motion exercises did she come to realize how much time she’d lost. Two weeks already, two weeks with her arm bound in a sling, two weeks completely isolated save for her visits with the king and his guard. When Oin hurried out of the room after rewrapping her arm, she expected the other two to follow.

“Tirnalil, my patience grows thin, much as I have tried to keep it for your sake,” Thorin hissed through his teeth. He approached the bed but drew up short, hand on the Orcrist’s hilt. He pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked to the ceiling with a heavy sigh. “I understand that the Elvenking showed you leniency under the impression that a dragon cannot be ruled, but I will not waver under such a threat, not even if it comes to me bearing the face of someone I would have called my friend. If you take me as your King, then speak, or I swear to you that I shall strike you down where you stand this very moment.”

“Thorin!” Dwalin shouted, apparently having not been in on the king’s intention.

Still, Tirnalil withered under the gaze of both dwarves, looking less like the dragon and more like a rabbit, shivering on the floor, tucked into the far corner of the room, in the narrow space between the bed frame and the wall.

“ _Speak_.”

She flinched at the fire in his voice, despite the lack of volume behind it.

The Thorin that stood before her now was truly every inch the king he had always been meant to be, and she could not refuse him. No matter the ache in her arm and in her heart that begged her to keep the secret for a moment longer. Carefully, she shifted her body until she was kneeling in front of him. Her pulse raced at her throat, a vivid drumbeat in her ears. She swallowed and began.

Of all the places to begin, she chose to start from the end, when she lost her life under the onslaught of Azog and his king. How her first wish was granted, how she should have left it at that and been happy for a second chance at all. Back then, the only strings had been the uncertainty, when it would happen. How Dwalin, Balin, Ori, Kili, and Fili were the only ones amongst the dwarves that she’d told. How even Oin, the dwarf who’d been charged with keeping her alive in spite of the strange bouts of weakness, had also been kept in the dark. How she’d been dying from the moment the eagles carried her back from Ravenhill.

“You knew and you did not tell your king?” Thorin growled out. Though he did not turn to direct his ire to his guard, he did not need to in order to make it felt.

Dwalin flinched and clicked his tongue. “My apologies, my king, but at the time, I could not betray her trust. I would have told you had it endangered our people.”

“And now? We have come here every day for two weeks, Dwalin, _every day_ , since she attacked Balin, your own brother. Does that constitute a threat to our people?”

“I admit that I had hoped that I would not have to,” Dwalin answered slowly, after a measured pause. His gaze flickered over to Tirnalil still on the floor, and she hastily looked away. “Besides, she cannot break the _mithril_ chain. She can do no more harm here than a mouse could.”

Great, so he was disappointed in her. Add that to the guilt she already carried on her shoulders for hurting Balin in the first place.

“That’s not all,” Tirnalil murmured, immediately recoiling under the rolling waves of fury emanating from the king, but she swallowed down the rising fear and forced herself to continue.

She could not be grateful for the change in the room when she revealed to them the visions that came to her in the night, how she’d been asked to go to the halls of the Maker, how she’d refused them and asked for more time. When she told them how she had been able to put her hand into the fire without pain, she could feel the tension sneaking into Thorin’s sword arm once more, but she turned her eyes away so she did not have to see his fingers curl around the hilt.

“I prayed to your Maker, to Mahal, to Aulë, and my prayers were answered,” Tirnalil finished with a weak laugh. “Only, I wish I had never asked at all. If the gift before had been poisoned, this time it is cursed. Not only do I know when it will happen, but I could not bear to live a moment longer if I were to harm him. I have already attacked Balin. It is only a matter of time before I lose control again.”

“Do you believe that you will harm him?” Thorin asked, his voice even and toneless. The blade of Orcrist slid out from its scabbard soundlessly, and she would not have been drawn to it if not for the flash of the torchlight against its shining surface. His hands did not waver when he brought the blade to the side of her neck. Nor did she waver beside the cold metal.

“I cannot promise that I will not,” came her answer.

The blade swung back and she shut her eyes.

The _clang_ of steel against steel directly before her forced her to scramble backwards with what little space she’d left for herself, and when she reopened her eyes, she found Dwalin before her, his arms straining behind Grasper and Keeper to push back Orcrist.

“Ye cannot be serious, Thorin!” Dwalin exclaimed, finally throwing his weight into his attack until Thorin was pushed to the opposite end of the room, both dwarves panting heavily from the exertion. 

“She said it herself that she could not promise his safety,” Thorin bellowed in return, charging forwards once more. 

Tirnalil flinched and covered her ears before she crawled through the gap under the bed to take refuge from the harsh ringing of the Elven sword clashing against the Dwarven axes.

“We have come too far for me to risk his life for the sake of one person, one _dragon_.” The sound of a blade whistling through the air before it is parried again.

“Aye, but we have only come so far on the back of that very dragon. Do not do this, Thorin.”

“I will not wait for it to stab us in the back and take my nephew from me. I will not be the one to tell his mother that I failed to protect him.” Another _clang_.

“Thorin! Wait!” For a moment, Tirnalil heard nothing but the rough gasps for breath of them both trying desperately to catch their breaths. Then a tired groan and the _ka-thud_ of the butt of an axe against the floor as Dwalin must have used it to pull himself up to his full height. The scuff of boots then the creak of the bed springs under a weight shifting above her. Then a sigh. “Tirnalil? If there is more to the truth ye have not yet said, say it now.”

She whined high in the back of her throat and carefully crept out from under the bed.

Thorin was a rough sight, Dwalin no better. Both were still struggling to even out their breaths, and despite the fact that neither appeared to have been cut, they both sported rapidly discolouring bruises from what she assumed were the flat sides of their weapons or their pommels, and Thorin clutched his side with a wince. Having felt the full weight of Dwalin’s battleaxe against her own side, and indeed bearing proof of its impact in her broken arm, she winced subconsciously, fearing the worst, that she had unwittingly pitted Dwalin against his own king. 

“I’m afraid there is more. I had said before that my prayers were answered, that I got the time I asked for, but where before I was not told how much longer I would have, this time,” she stopped to wipe her tears away with a breathy inhale, “this time, I know when Mahal will call for me again. There will be no more denying him. I have lived long enough.”

“When?” Thorin grunted.

“The summer solstice.” She gave them a moment, waiting for a sign that they’d heard her, then crawled back underneath the bed, curling into a ball with her back to the wall.

Dwalin hummed above her, and she was grateful for her refuge, she could not bear to see the look on his face. “Thorin, we are not so far away from that time.” 

“You would have me wait out the threat of the dragon? Because it will perish in a few month’s time, leave the threat unchecked?”

“Her arm’s broke, Thorin, what damage can she do? No dwarf here in Erebor is so weak that they could not defend themselves,” Dwalin pointed out. He sighed and the bed creaked again when his heavy boots dropped down to the floor. He patted the frame of the bed with a heavy hand. “Tirnalil, ye cannot hide under there forever. Cursed or not, Mahal granted you more time. It’s up to you what you do with it.”

Thorin let out a long breath. “Dwalin, find Fili and bring him here.”

Only after the door shut with a soft _whuff_ of air did Tirnalil creep back out from under the bed, just enough to peek out at Thorin, now seated with his back against the opposite wall, one leg stretched out, while he rested his arm against the raised knee of the other. His head was tilted back though he kept his bright blue eyes locked on her and a hand on the hilt of the sword beside him. If she gave him any indication of another break, she would not survive the night. She slid back into the shadows and waited.

Fili entered the small room with as much force as he’d run into her the very first day they’d met. The door swung open with so much force, it rebounded against the wall with a sudden bang that was met by the slap of a hand over it on its return, after that an annoyed grumble that could only belong to Dwalin.

“Where is she?” he asked, his voice so desperate and worn out that Tirnalil wished she could melt into the floor.

Thorin or Dwalin must have gestured to her hiding place because without wasting another second, Fili dropped to his knees to peer under the bed.

“Stay back, I don’t want to hurt you,” she cried out at once.

“I know, and I know you won’t hurt me,” he shushed her, hands raised, and he scooted another inch forward, lowering himself to the floor until he lay on his chest, his chin resting on his hands. 

She whimpered pitifully. Though she could not see them beyond their boots, she imagined Dwalin and Thorin remained motionless, one by the wall and one by the door, their hands were both on the hilts of their weapons should they need to draw them.

Fili’s hand on her ankle felt like a hot brand against her skin, and she sobbed into her hand. As if he felt it too, he immediately released her and crab-walked himself backwards again until he was back out from underneath the bed. He looked so defeated, and she wished more than anything she could take back her request of the Valar, that she did not have to see him in such pain, knowing that it was only by her doing.

“Fili, please. I could hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he repeated. Though his voice was confident, there was an undercurrent of sadness to his words, however brief. “I know why you ran.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, stopping to fondle the bead she’d braided into his lion’s mane a long time ago. When he looked at her again, his golden eyes were so bright with hope and the warmth she’d always loved most about him, the feeling of home and safety. She shivered at the thought that she might be the one to extinguish that light where even Azog had failed. “You saw something, didn’t you? Mahal came to you.”

“How did you know?” she asked him, suddenly breathless.

“Dwalin told me about the shrine you and Tilda found, the day after you fell ill in the library. I went there to make an offering to Mahal and to pray for guidance. My prayers were answered, but it was not an answer I wanted. Nor do I think you received the answer you wanted.”

She shook her head, tearing up once again. No, she certainly had not.

“While I still wished you had spoken to me, I understand why you felt you needed to run.”

“Do you?” Tirnalil mumbled, curling tighter about herself as the all too familiar itch returned in the back of her mind. She shut her eyes tight as her skin burned hot, every nerve of her being set aflame. “You need to leave, all of you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” came Fili’s response not a foot away from her ear. When had he come so close?

Tirnalil wrenched her eyes open, but the twisting motion of turning to face him, forced her eyes shut against the first surge of pain. He gripped her hand and forcefully dragged her out of her makeshift shelter and into his arms, pulling her until her back was flush with his chest.

“Get out!” she groaned, and when the next wave hit, with her arms so confined against Fili, all she could do was scream herself hoarse against his neck. He struggled to hold on through the next wave, even as her spine arched backwards. She whimpered, tensing her hands at her sides, and went still for a moment, long enough to whisper tearfully into his ear, “I don’t want to hurt you, _please,_ you have to let me go. Let Thorin do as he must.”

For the king had already risen to his feet, Orcrist poised to make its final strike against the last great dragon of Arda. Beside him, Dwalin held Grasper and Keeper at the ready, but he could not school the anguish from his face. She forced herself to look away and press her forehead against Fili’s neck.

“Do you know what I felt when we first met, Tirnalil?” he whispered back. She felt the rumble of every word as it left his throat and a small smile rose unbidden to her face.

She shook her head, but the motion of it caused the muscles of her neck to spasm and she leaned her back, the scream tearing itself from her as she became lost in the pain. It burned so brightly, so hotly, wherever they touched, but she could not bring herself to be parted from him. If this was how she died, at least she could pass in his arms. Let her be with him. _Please_. Her fingers twitched with the need to bury claws into something, something warm, let the blood be spilled, let it flow over her fingers, or better, let it fill her mouth. 

“I felt your power, and when I looked into your eyes, all I saw was your strength. Tirnalil,” he whispered her name so lovingly as he caressed the side of her face, smoothing out her hair over the pillows, “I know you are stronger than the dragon, but you must fight it. _Fight it_ , Tir.”

_I’m trying, I’m trying, but it is too strong. It has been too long, and I’m so tired_ , she wished she could say, but she was so lost. All she could manage was another howl.

“Tirnalil, do you remember Beorn’s house?” Fili asked. He tried for a laugh, but it fell flat between his tears and his efforts to keep Tirnalil’s arms restrained. He clenched his jaw at a particularly strong jab of her elbow, accidental, to his stomach, but shook his head at his uncle’s advance, the beads at his mustache swinging with the gesture. “Tirnalil, do you remember? To this day, I think even if I had been watching where I was going, I still would have fallen for you. I grew up hearing stories as a young dwarrow from my mother all about the magic of finding your One. I had never thought that I might be so lucky.” A tear fell from his eye as he managed a small chuckle. “And then there you were.”

“Listen to me, listen for my voice, and come back to me, all right, Tir? Just come back to me,” he mumbled into her hair as she trembled against him. 

“What about Mirkwood? I remember being so afraid of you the first night I tried to feed you kingsfoil. You said you wouldn’t bite, but all I could see were teeth the size of Uncle’s sword. Did you know that you purred when you slept? I never imagined what dragons would sound like asleep, but I could feel it when I slept beside you, and it was the strangest thing. There are some days that I can hardly believe that I can claim to be the only dwarf to sleep beneath a dragon’s wing and live to tell the tale. After that night, there was no way I could fear you any longer. I mean, I already knew it in my heart, though it took a while longer to realize what it was, that feeling of home when I was with you. Let me be home for you now, Tir, come back to me.”

Fili only just managed to stifle his cry by biting down on his lip hard enough to make it bleed when Tirnalil managed to twist her hands around to sink her talons into the meat of his thighs, curling her fingers deep into the flesh in an effort to force him to release her. The metallic taste flooded his mouth. He held fast and crushed his arms around her more tightly, panting heavily against her ear.

“Fili, let her go and let us be done with this, she is lost to us,” Thorin urged him, Orcrist already held aloft.

“I’m not giving up on her, she will come back,” Fili cried out and grimaced at the spray of blood that dribbled down his lips. He bit back the hiss of pain when Tirnalil only dug deeper when she realized she could not free herself. “She promised she would come back to me. She only needs help to find the way.”

Dwalin lowered his arms, instead shifting so that he sat with his back to the wall, much as Thorin had before Fili burst into the room. When Thorin glanced over his shoulder at the dwarf, Dwalin merely shook his head. He would not leave the prince, but until Tirnalil posed a direct, Fili appeared to be managing her fairly well, despite her claws latched onto his legs. It felt wrong to listen to Fili recount stories of their times together, but he would not leave the prince undefended, nor would he leave Tirnalil’s fate up to the king. If she truly was too far gone, he would not deny Thorin the right to defend his kin, but the way that dragon cried, he wanted to protect the little flame of hope that they might still have a chance.

His attention snapped back to the curious pair still lying next to the bed when he heard mention of Ravenhill.

Fili’s voice reached a new level of desperation, caught between the fear that Tirnalil was well and truly lost to them and the pain from her talons dislodging themselves from his thighs and resettling on his sides, just above his hips. She had managed, somehow in the time since Dwalin had settled against the opposite wall, to turn around so that they sat chest to chest, the dragon kneeling over him, its legs to either side of Fili’s wounded thighs. He could just see the tremor in Thorin’s sword arm. With her face so close to his neck, one wrong move, and she could kill him. It wouldn’t be too difficult to bite into his throat.

“Tir, come back to me. I know you are still there. Try to remember Tilda, Bard’s youngest daughter. Do you remember when you met her? Someday I would like to know what you two were laughing about, what made you roll all over the floor, laughing and tickling her. Oh, Tir, Mahal bless me, you do not know what it did to me to watch you play with her, smiling at her like you had not a care in the world. You were such a natural with her, and, Mahal, I would give anything to see you so free again.

“I know he will take you from me, but when you were playing with her, I felt it again, the surety that you were my One. And I know it, I do, that he will take you from me, but I have dreams that we have a family together, that we find our ‘ _happily ever after_.’ I would have wished for that future more than anything, but right now, all I wish for is for you to come back to me. Come back, Tir, and tell me what made you laugh like that so that I might hear it again,” he cried and held her tight, the tears falling from his eyes mixing with the blood still on his chin.

He did not rush to hope that the slack in her fingers in his sides meant that she had come back to him because he had thought the same before she attacked him again. Thorin nearly had her head and probably would have if Fili had not turned into the strike in time, offering himself up instead.

However, his heart skipped a beat when he heard her voice, fainter but more beloved than a breeze on the hottest summer day, tired and broken, “You, Fi. We were talking about you.”

Then, she fell limp against his chest, and Thorin swept her up in an instant, wrenching her unconscious form away from FIli, who slumped over to his side, just as exhausted, just as spent. He tossed her as far as the chain around her wrist would allow. Dwalin surged upwards to his feet and stepped towards Tirnalil before he froze in place under the icy glare of his king. His hands tightened around his axe, but he did not move.

“I told you,” Fili groaned, rolling onto his back with a wince, “told you she would come back.”

“I swore that I would kill her if she harmed you,” Thorin answered. “This ends now.”

“Uncle!” Fili cried out and pushed himself up from the floor, but was stopped by the searing pain in the wounds to his legs. He crawled along the floor, arm over arm, until he lay in front of his One. “Uncle, stop this!”

The king took another step towards the fallen dragon and pulled back his sword arm. “Move aside, Fili.”

“Uncle, I cannot let you do this!”

“Fili!” Thorin roared his name. Leveling Orcrist against his sister-son pained him, but he had little choice. “When she lost control in the mountain, you swore to grant her a good death. She is dying, and the closer we come to the solstice, the further she will fall into madness. Step aside so that I may deliver her to Mahal in peace, let her pass while she is still herself.”

Mention of that ill-fated promise brought back memories Fili had rather he never heard again. And yet, his uncle spoke the truth. When he swept his hand over Tirnalil’s shoulder, the bruises from the break just now beginning to fade into yellows and greens, he could not fight back the sobs that wrenched themselves from his throat. He beat his fists against the stone until Dwalin yanked him back against his chest to keep him from continuing until he broke more than just skin. He yelled savagely for his release, but the guard did not relent. Not even when Fili allowed himself to hang there limply, his eyes never leaving Tirnalil’s form as Thorin pulled back his arm for the final time.

The blonde princeling could not have torn his eyes away from the scene for anything less than an act of war.

He didn’t even remember blinking, but one moment, Orcrist had made its descent, poised to behead the dragon, then the next, he struggled to open his eyes amidst a blinding flash of white light. His ears rang, and the floor was cold beneath his back. When he managed to roll himself to his front, he felt small bits of stone rubble tumble from his hair and bite at the skin of his palms.

Finally, his vision cleared, and a vision it had to be.

Gandalf knelt before him, then he stood with Tirnalil cradled against his chest as if she weighed nothing. He tapped his staff upon the _mithril_ chain and it fell apart instantly in another flash of light. The wizard did not linger, the edges of his grey cloak stirring up the dust in his wake.

It took every last ounce of his strength to force himself to follow after the wizard. Between their difference in height and Fili’s bleeding wounds, he narrowly missed the wizard’s departure from the mountain and would have missed it entirely had he not made such a ruckus when he tripped over his own feet and landed in a sprawl across the entryway moments before Gandalf wheeled his horse around to begin the ride down towards Dale or wherever it was he meant to take the dragon.

Pity was in the old wizard’s eyes as they fell upon the dwarf struggling so desperately to stand under his own power. The guards posted at either side of the gate shifted uneasily, but when one of them stepped forward, Fili angrily waved him off. The first step he took towards Gandalf nearly had him on the floor again, but he caught himself before his face met the stone. The second was hardly better, but by the fifth, he could have had the wizard believe he’d never been injured at all. He put on a brave face, but the wizard could only pity him more for it.

“Where will you take her?” he wheezed.

“Someplace safe.”

“Gandalf, please, do not take her from me.”

The wizard hummed, then looked to point behind Fili, his expression going sour. He spun his horse in a tight circle before directing it towards Fili, its hooves chiming loudly against the rock. Then, Fili felt himself being wrenched upwards by his arm before he was told to hold on. His hands grasping onto the grey cloak, he risked a glance behind him to see Thorin and Dwalin charging after them, looking a fair amount worse than even Fili felt. They must have taken more of the initial blast, although Fili didn’t dare ask if it had been intentional. He did not trust the intentions of the wizard, but he would not allow his mistrust to keep him from his One. Not after everything he’d already endured. He had made a promise, and he intended to keep it, to stay with her to the end.

Dale passed them as a blur and the wizard still did not slow the rapid pace of his horse beneath him. Surely it had been a gift of the elves, for it carried them easily with no need for direction by a hand on its reins. Gandalf still held Tirnalil against his front with one arm while the other searched for wounds that needed treatment.

Only after they passed into the shadow of Mirkwood did Fili understand which elves must have gifted the wizard with the horse. It followed the stone path with ease, despite the heavy layer of leaf litter that obscured them from the dwarf’s sight.

“You are taking her to King Thranduil, why? The forest makes her ill, she would have been safer in Erebor,” Fili protested from his seat behind the wizard.

“We will not remain in Mirkwood for long. If we have any luck, the only person in Arda who may yet be able to help her might already be waiting for us.”

“Who is coming, Gandalf?”

“The Lady of the Wood, Lady Galadriel, it was she who sent me to Erebor to retrieve our friend in the first place. We are ill-prepared to do battle against the Great Spiders, though I understand that King Thranduil has doubled, nay, _tripled_ his efforts to eradicate them entirely.”

As much as Fili wished to demand more from the wizard, he had left Erebor with little more than the knives he kept hidden about his person. While he did not doubt he could take down a handful of the foul beasts even with his small armoury, he had no desire to put himself to such a test. 

The Halls of the Elvenking felt different when they passed through its front gates, lighter than it had since they had first been led down to its dungeons deep beneath the trees. Though they did not have a friend in the court as they had when Tauriel and Tirnalil had sought to aid the dwarves, Fili could not help but keep a wary eye on the elf at his back and the elf that walked ahead of them, carrying Tirnalil in their arms. When they first moved to take her from the horse’s back, Fili had not been able to control himself from automatically whipping out a dagger and placing it at the side of the elf’s neck.

“Prince Fili, I was a friend of Tirnalil’s before my Lord was forced to send her to Imladris. I promise you that I mean her no harm,” the elf promised, dipping his head in a bow and pressing his own neck against the blade.

Fili hastily pulled back his arm before the pale skin of the elf could be harmed, tucking it back into its secret fold in his heavy coat. Grumbling under his breath, he finally took a step back to allow the elf room to maneuver the dragon into his arms. He had to believe that Tirnalil had indeed known this elf, that she would be safe, though even in her retellings of stories from her days in the Greenwood, she had mentioned very few specific names beyond Legolas and Tauriel.

Although Thranduil sat upon his throne, framed by the massive antlers of a great elk from the past, dressed in splendidly woven silver silks with elaborate embroidered patterns of leaves in shining white and gold threads, Fili’s eyes were still drawn to the admittedly more plain but even brighter white robes of the elf woman who stood before him, her hair brighter than the sunlight, her face both fair and frightening at once, her eyes riding the fine line between soft and sharp.

“ _You are the one to whom she has bound her_ fëa _, her soul_ ,” he heard her speak in his mind even as she uttered the words aloud, “Welcome, Fili, Prince of Erebor.”

“Faron, you may take her to her old rooms, and have a bath drawn for her,” Thranduil spoke evenly, and the elf who bore the dragon bowed deeply before he left the room. The Elvenking watched him go before he returned his attention to his three guests, a dwarf, a wizard, and the Lady of the Wood. “For what reason has she been placed under a sleeping enchantment? Has she fallen ill again? The last time we parted, it was after she had nearly frozen herself to death walking through the snow in the middle of the night.”

Gandalf answered, “There has been an additional complication to her condition, Lord Thranduil: the dragon’s influence has returned. Fili, you must tell us all that you can.”

“I don’t know all of it, I barely understand any of it,” Fili argued at first, but after taking a deep breath, he managed to lower his voice to continue, “Mahal came to me in a dream after I went to the shrine in the woods near Dale. He said that he would call upon her again when the days are warm and the nights short, we think he meant the solstice, but there is no way to be sure. I saw her put her arm into the fire and she was not burned, she felt no pain! Then she ran from me, and I was not there to see it happen, but Balin told me she attacked him, as if she was possessed, and my Uncle and Dwalin had to subdue her.”

He lifted his head up to the ceiling and had to pause to collect himself.

“Then, she disappeared. I did not know where they were keeping her until tonight; I had only been told that she’d taken ill. They had her chained to a bed. She didn’t mean to hurt me, and I know it wasn’t her, but Uncle meant to kill her for it. So we fled.”

Only then did the Lady direct her gaze to the blood that had dried in a dark streak on either side of his trousers and dyed the sides of his shirt under his coat a deep crimson.

“My Lady, as a pupil of Aulë and Yavanna, is there any way to preserve her mind?”

“She is dying, Mithrandir, this we have known since the eagles carried her down from Ravenhill. I have no power over death,” the elf woman said solemnly. Seemingly from thin air, she produced from the wispy folds of her white robes a glass phial that she cradled in her slender fingers, turning it over so that the liquid inside it splashed from one end to the other. This she brought before Fili. “This is a phial that contains the light of Eärendil, the dearest of all stars to the elves. It cannot remove the dragon’s curse, but it may help to keep the darkness at bay.”

Fili turned it over and over in his hand, confused, but grateful for anything that might keep his One safe. 

While he fiddled with the phial, Galadriel began to glide across the floor in the graceful manner of all elves, towards where Faron had disappeared. She paused only long enough for the dwarf to realize her intention and pocket the phial before she continued to walk ahead. Gandalf fell into step beside him, unlike before in the flight from Erebor, he kept his steps short and slow so as not to push Fili into a jog, although he seemed to have forgotten the ache in his as yet untreated wounds, so distracted by the thought of Tirnalil.

Behind them, Thranduil followed them more slowly, flagging down a passing elf to request for bandages and medicines to be brought to Tirnalil’s rooms, along with wine, plenty more wine. 

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Erebor, Balin hustled after his king through the dark, torch-lit halls. They had just left the infirmary, Oin having determined that neither the king nor his guard would suffer permanent hearing loss after the concussive blast that demolished the wall behind which Tirnalil had been hidden. Balin had not made the trip to visit her himself, as Thorin had made it abundantly clear that a decision needed to be made regarding the dragon, and quickly.

He so badly detested lying, but Thorin had asked him not to speak of the truth of the events in the library to anyone. Balin could keep Ori occupied with a new translation needing to be done, or a rare book that needed rewriting before its original scroll deteriorated beyond legibility, so that he never had the time to pause and question the dragon’s absence. Indeed, very few of the other members of the Company had sought her out, by now accustomed to her penchant for picking a dwarf of the day to shadow; they merely assumed that she was in the company of some other dwarf.

Only Fili had come to the library demanding a truth Balin could not give. Thorin, Balin knew, had told the boy that Tirnalil had taken a turn for the worse, and Tirnalil herself had asked that she not be visited. It had been a poor excuse, and Balin had known as soon as he heard it that it would not placate the princeling for long.

He expected to be proven right eventually, but he had not expected Dwalin to haul Fili away from his studies roughly by the collar of his coat. He tried to follow initially, only to stop when his own brother, without even turning to look at him, swung Grasper back towards him, halting it so that the point at the end of its shaft hovered only an inch from his throat.

“Stay here,” Dwalin had grunted, then continued his savage march, paying no heed to Fili’s demands to be released.

Gandalf’s appearance at the gates of Erebor had been surprising enough. That he had come on the back of a grey stallion wearing an Elvish bridle, bitless, and a finely made leather saddle, the blanket beneath it a rich violet with a pattern of silver leaves along the edges had been a greater surprise. Balin had hardly had a moment to even question the wizard’s presence at Erebor before he swept past him in a rush of wind, storming in much the same direction as Dwalin.

Then, just as quickly, Gandalf had rushed past him once again, a small bundle of cloth curled against his chest, and Balin had finally understood.

“What will you do? Gandalf has gone and taken them both, and Bard has said that they did not pass through Dale. We have no idea where he will go.”

Thorin burst through the doors to his study, letting them slam against the walls, while he slid around to the seat behind his desk, immediately dropping his face into his hands. He rubbed his temples for a moment then sat back, hands on the arms of the chair. When he spoke, his voice was tired, his energy drained, and Balin could not blame him. “Send a raven to the Blue Mountains, to Dís. She must make the journey to Erebor as soon as the passes have cleared enough to allow it. And send another to Lord Elrond in Rivendell. If Gandalf passes that way, I would like to know of it.”

“But they would also have to cross the pass themselves to reach the elves, and Tirnalil is in no condition to make such a crossing,” the advisor was hesitant to point out.

“Gandalf has proven more than once to be a friend of the eagles. I would not put it past him to call upon them again. Send the ravens, Balin,” Thorin pressed again.

“What of Mirkwood? Should I send a raven to King Thranduil?” He kept it to himself that Gandalf had ridden in on an Elven steed. Unfortunately, he had not taken notice of more details of the horse’s bearing to determine if it had come from Mirkwood or from some other Elvish settlement. There was Lórien to the south, but many hundreds of miles lay between them and Caras Galadhon. No, Mirkwood was the likelier place.

“I do not think they would have stopped in that place. She is sick already. They would not risk her health there.” But he paused and shook his head. “But you are right, send one anyway. If they passed through, even if they did not linger, I wish to know.”

“Of course, _Uzbad_.”

Later that night, while they took a somber meal, Balin had had to lie once more. 

“Balin, have you seen Fili today? He was supposed to help me with a ring design, but I haven’t seen him since breakfast,” Kili had muttered around a mouthful of potatoes.

The white-haired dwarf could only shake his head and offer the younger princeling another mug of ale. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him, but with how Tirnalil’s condition has been of late, I’m certain they’ve only sequestered themselves away for the time being. Nothing to worry about.”

Kili had not looked convinced, and the she-elf who sat beside him looked even less convinced, though she mercifully kept her silence.

Balin had been right to feel so ill-at-ease after his discussion with the princeling, for the next morning, neither the princeling nor the she-elf could be found anywhere within the mountain.

* * *

When they arrived at Tirnalil's chambers, Fili could not help but comment on the sheer size of it. He had seen the immensity of her dragon form when she fought against Smaug and up close, when she lost control of it inside Erebor’s treasure halls, but even when they slept under the trees beyond Thranduil’s palace, the dragon had not even been half as large as it had been in Erebor. Yet, this room seemed large enough to fit such a creature with ease. When he paused in the doorway, stunned by the dimensions of the vast chamber, the Elvenking was forced to halt his steps behind him, rolling his eyes once the dwarf finally moved once more.

In the recessed portion of the wall, Tirnalil had already been tucked in underneath the deep blue blankets, her black hair brushed out save for the singular braid still bearing Fili’s bead. She looked better than she had since they left Erebor, a little more color had returned to her cheeks, though her eyebrows were still drawn together. Even the enchanted sleep could not promise her quality rest. Galadriel towered over Fili as she stood, but while Gandalf and Thranduil seated themselves by the brazier that had been brought close to keep her warm, Galadriel perched herself on the edge of Tirnalil’s bed, leaning back against the wall of the little alcove, a gentle smile playing at her lips.

She glanced away from the dwarf over to the elf who appeared in the doorway with nary a sound. Thranduil followed her gaze and hastened to the she-elf, thanking her for the tray she’d brought with her before approaching the bedside. Though his expression was stoic, his eyes were not.

He breathed out through his mouth before he addressed the dwarf, “Your wounds must be treated. There are clothes in the trunk behind you that you should be able to fit. You need not trouble yourself whether they are women’s clothes. Due to the nature of shape changing, she kept a large quantity of formless clothes in the event she tore something by mistake. The door behind us will take you to a washroom.”

Then Fili noticed that the Elvenking had brought over a tray filled with linen wraps, a small basin for water, several small washcloths, and a whole collection of tinned salves that he could smell even as he knelt beside Tirnalil. He did not appear to be in a rush to call for another elf to attend to his wounds, so Fili beat a hasty retreat to the indicated chest, indeed finding a messy assortment of long sleeved but otherwise shapeless tunics cut from a plain deep blue, almost black cloth. He changed quickly, though he lingered a moment longer in the washroom, thinking to himself how strange it was to be under the care of the same elf who would rather have seen the dwarves wither away in his dungeons only months ago. 

When he abandoned the refuge the washroom had offered him, Thranduil immediately set to work cleaning and dressing his wounds with wartime efficiency. His hands were not gentle, though they were not rough either, merely no movement was wasted or without purpose. As soon as he had deemed his work satisfactory, he returned all the items to the tray, set the tray outside the doorway, and returned to his seat by the brazier as if he’d done nothing out of the ordinary. They never even once exchanged words, Fili too baffled to say anything.

Fili looked over at the Lady of Lórien and immediately looked away once more, a vivid blush blooming across his cheeks at the sight of her knowing smile. He felt much more exposed than he had even when Thranduil had to lift the edge of the overlong tunic to get to the wounds at his sides.

“Mithrandir, if you would please remove the enchantment,” she said sweetly.

The wizard gestured vaguely at the dragon with his staff and affirmed that he’d done as he’d been asked, although Tirnalil did not immediately wake.

With the way that Galadriel cupped Tirnalil’s cheeks between her hands, her fingertips sliding into the dragon’s hair, her eyes sliding shut, Fili just knew that the Lady was speaking within Tirnalil’s mind as she had within his. He shivered subconsciously at the memory and forced himself to watch Tirnalil for any sign of a reaction.

The Lady spoke first, her voice not necessarily cold but lacking warmth, “Prince Fili, the phial. Give it to her.”

Carefully, he extricated her right arm from the covers, mindful of the still healing break, and placed it in Tirnalil’s hand, curling her fingers over the glass. He held his hands over hers, fearful that she might drop it if she startled awake, as she typically did from her nightmares. 

While his eyes closed against the growing brightness seeping between their overlapping fingers, Tirnalil’s eyes opened until her lips parted in a silent gasp. Smiling brightly, Galadriel stroked the dragon’s cheekbones, smoothing away the tears from her lashes, before she pulled away and cocked her head to the side, directing the dragon’s attention to the others in the room. Still blinking away the spots in their vision from the sudden burst of brightness, they did not realize she had awoken, until she allowed the light in her palm to fade, her attention focused solely on the dwarf still on his knees beside her. 

He heard her whimper first. Keeping one hand over hers, he slid the other behind her neck and pulled her towards him, pressing their foreheads together as he wept silently. He croaked out in a breathy whisper, “I told you before, didn’t I? Whether it is two months or two weeks, I would spend all of it with you. I would spend every waking moment proving to you that you are loved. I will not leave you to suffer alone.”

“I am sorry I ran from you,” she whined low in her throat. She tried to roll onto her side to better face him, but hissed in pain as she rolled onto her broken side, flopping back against the pillows. “I will not leave you again, Fili.”

Quiet as a mouse, Gandalf slipped away from the room, a soft smile upon his face, pleased with this turn of events. In the morning perhaps, after she’d had some better quality sleep with her dwarf beside her, they could address the Oliphant in the room, but for the time being, between the phial and Fili, she seemed to be in better spirits and in her right mind. Galadriel left last, after Thranduil reluctantly pulled himself away, clearly desiring to speak with the dragon but unwilling to disturb the dwarf. She paused in the doorway, a hand on the stone frame, tracing her fingertips over the vines that had grown over the burn scar left behind so many centuries ago. 

Already blissfully ignorant of the departure of the elves and of the wizard, Fili stripped out of the borrowed tunic, left only in his smallclothes, and slid under the covers beside Tirnalil. Immediately, she curled around him, careful not to jostle her injured shoulder too badly as she sought the warmth she’d missed out on for the previous two weeks.

There were still too many questions left unanswered, riddles left unsolved, and worries unsettled, but there would be time enough in the morning to deal with them. Time enough, indeed. However much time they had left, it would be enough. He would make it enough.

* * *

It was not an easy thing to do, facing the Lady of Lórien and the Elvenking together, Mithrandir seated to Galadriel’s left, but Tirnalil felt she could not have withstood it had the pass been clear enough for Lord Elrond to join them. Fili’s presence at her side comforted her, even out of her sight, she felt him squeeze her hand, bringing it over onto his lap under the table. Her right hand clutched the phial of clear water like a lifeline, and she prayed for her heart to slow its rapid pace under the gaze of the Lady.

She had not seen her often since their first meeting at Imladris, when the dragon’s power had still been largely unchecked, but while they had not spoken frequently in person, Lady Galadriel had checked in with her over the centuries through her mind. She knew the state of Tirnalil’s mind had always been stressed, a minefield of memories with an ever present undercurrent of animal ferocity waiting for a chance to break free. She knew the level of mental fortitude that Tirnalil had had to learn to cultivate in order to maintain what control she’d had over the dragon’s influence. Which was why Tirnalil hated that she had lost so much of that control.

“But you have not lost all of it,” the Lady reminded her softly from the other side of the table. She reached a pale hand across, palm up, in offering.

The dragon gulped and, pocketing the phial, slid her hand into Galadriel’s. The Lady smiled, and it filled her with a familiar warmth. She truly was a pupil of Yavanna’s and Aulë’s to be so capable of putting others at ease, to be such a fearsome force when needed but also a comfort.

“You controlled the dragon’s influence before, and you have the power within yourself to do so again,” the Lady promised her, her fingers tightening around Tirnalil’s. “Do not despair, or have you not yet learned the lesson that Aulë has set for you?”

There was a slyness to the Lady’s gaze that Tirnalil did not like for it set her heart aflutter with shame and embarrassment at having to learn a lesson at all. But the Lady was wise, her sight too keen, and Tirnalil felt her cheeks flush.

“Yes, I know it now. I could wish that none of this had ever happened, but I cannot change the past, nor would I. I cannot ask for more time, all I can do is choose what to do with the time I have been given, and I have chosen to make the most of it. It will be hard, I think, to push past my own fear, but I know that I must.”

“Then you will continue with your courtship?” Mithrandir asked, not the least bit accusatory. No, he chuckled to himself as if he knew what answer rested on the tip of the dragon’s tongue.

She had not even discussed her decision with Fili when they first awoke with the Elvenking’s summons to come down for a midmorning meal, but when she looked to him, turned herself face him fully, she felt she was making the only choice she could.

“We will, only not in so many steps, and not in any order. I have neither the time nor the patience to do the customs of dwarves any justice.”

“Then what will you do?” Thranduil asked, raising a single dark eyebrow. Though his voice was even, one corner of his lips twitched with the urge to chuckle as well. Only Tirnalil’s trained eye seemed to notice, and her light laugh only made it twitch more.

“Court in the way that dragons do, the way that I would have a courtship done. _Ada_ , you have always believed that a dragon’s will is its own, that a dragon cannot be ruled, and that is how we shall be. If you will still have me, Fili,” her voice dropped in worry, though the firm grip on her hand in Fili’s told her to be unafraid.

“Only Mahal could take you from me now, I would not be parted from you by any other means,” Fili said, and both the elves and the wizard had to look away.

When they resituated themselves, hands woven together between them and matching smiles on their faces, Lady Galadriel cautioned them again, even as she rose from her seat, “The way ahead will not be easy, Tirnalil, but you know what you must do and you now carry the light of Eärendil with you. _Savo 'lass a lalaith, novaer, henig_.”

“ _N'i lû tôl, guren glassui, hiril vuin_ ,” Tirnalil replied, and though tears sprang forth to the corners of her eyes, she did not move to wipe them away, allowing them to fall.

The four of them following the departure of the Lady had been about to return to the task of finishing their plates when Galion interrupted, presenting a scroll to his Lord. Neither Fili nor Tirnalil missed the vivid blue of the seal of Durin. Thranduil made no attempt to hide his eye roll nor his disdain when he broke the seal, eyes rapidly scanning the handwriting, which he no doubt deemed poor, before he tossed it haphazardly back to the tabletop, notably beyond Tirnalil’s reach. He pretended not to see her glower and went back to his meal as if nothing had disturbed them.

She would have kicked him in the shin if she were any taller and her legs could reach beneath the table.

So she settled for flicking a piece of potato at him instead.

It required no small amount of effort not to lose it herself, even with Fili trying to catch his breath after choking on his own breakfast beside her from laughing at the sight of the Elvenking’s jaw dropping from the assault on his person, Galion by the door covering his mouth with one hand even as his shoulders shook from stifled laughter. Mithrandir had the smoothest countenance by far, though his eyes twinkled, pleased by this turn of events. Her heart warmed to see it. It felt lighter somehow, even in the face of certain death.

There would be no returning to normal. There could be no returning to the Tirnalil of old, the dragon that he’d known from the time of their first meeting in Imladris, when Lord Elrond had sought the aid of the wizard to lift the spirits of the despondent dragon he’d housed. He had been concerned then that the creature would fade from its many years of isolation, but the flash of fireworks overhead had startled it from the shell it had built around itself and it emerged, bright-eyed and curious. Of course, it helped that the sparkling lights that the wizard had launched into the skies over Imladris had brought over the then-still young twins and an even younger Arwen, the four of them becoming fast friends.

There could be no return to such times, not truly, but she could try to bring back some of the happiness of those earlier days, when she had not yet been burdened by the eventuality of mortality. And trying to find that happiness, she’d decided, would start with flinging food at the elf to whom she owed her life in the first place.

“ _Ada_ , what did it say?” she asked him, innocently, as if she’d done nothing wrong.

Thranduil, having finished removing the bits of potato from his golden hair, took up his fork and knife once more, biting into a small piece of sausage before he deigned to answer her question, “The King Under the Mountain has forbidden the dragon from reentry into Erebor upon pain of death, on the grounds that it represents a grievous threat to the peoples of Erebor. The prince, however, has been asked to return to his duties. I have also been asked, that if I am harboring the Grey Wizard, the dragon, or the prince, to return the prince posthaste. A raven has also been dispatched to Lord Elrond of Rivendell, another to Lady Dís of the Blue Mountains asking that she make the journey to Erebor at her earliest convenience.”

“What will you do?” Tirnalil asked more hesitantly.

“I would ask the same of you, _tithen pen_.” And now the Elvenking set aside his utensils, Tirnalil mirroring him. “Let your heart be at peace. I would not return you to Erebor unless that dwarf marched upon my woods and wrested you from me himself.”

She turned to flash Fili a quick smile before she asked the wizard, “Mithrandir, do you suppose the eagles would carry us over the Misty Mountains?”

“I don’t suppose there is any harm in summoning them to ask,” Gandalf replied lightly.

Tirnalil shifted again so that she could see Fili fully with her remaining eye, glistening with tears, “You asked me once why I had never ventured beyond the borders of Imladris, of Rivendell. Back then, I told you that I was afraid of losing myself to the dragon, but that was before I had you beside me. Fili, will you show me the world that lies beyond the Hidden Valley?”

The dwarf’s face split into a wide grin, and he tucked her hair behind her ear before he pulled her gently towards him, landing a light kiss upon her lips. “It would be my pleasure.”

In all the centuries that Tirnalil had lived as both dragon and human, she had never felt the joy of flight. Not until now, on the back of one of the Great Eagles of Manwë. A good thing too, or she might never have been able to wrench herself away from the grief of losing her dragon’s wing if she had known the feeling of freedom and utter joy in her earlier years. She spread her arms wide and relished the rush of the air around her, her hair whipping across her face as she laughed. She felt light, so light, as if they’d left behind all the weight she carried upon her shoulders back in the woods of the Elvenking, and when she glanced over to Fili, she let the warmth of his gaze fill her heart and mind. Together with the aid of Galadriel’s gift Tirnalil could not find it within herself to be afraid of what would come.

Below her, on the back of another eagle, Fili watched in contentment as Tirnalil’s eagle performed several acrobatic maneuvers mid flight to please its rider. Only when they had finally burst through the layer of clouds that sat thick over the peaks of the Misty Mountains did her eagle finally cease its tricks and return to calm flight alongside its brother.

Looking across the broad wing of his eagle, the dwarf prince thought to himself, if we were to be struck down at this very moment, then I would perish happily, for having seen such happiness on her face. But if Mahal keeps us in his good graces a little while longer, let us have many more moments like this, let her cares fall away, let her know lightness and joy, let us have peace before she must leave. 

* * *

They had always known it would happen. A dark part of Tirnalil had hoped it would be quick and in the heat of battle, but the greater part of her, the one that clung to the hope of seeing another dawn, that part prayed that it would be in peace, a sleep from which she would not wake. Fili had never voiced which end he would have preferred, but as Tirnalil slept beside him, her hand curled in his, a wave of calm fell over her and a quiet warmth that had nothing to do with the heat in the air as they dozed away the afternoon beneath the shade of a broad oak tree on the wide, rolling hills before the Blue Mountains.

“ _ It is time _ .”

“ _ Are you ready? _ ”

Though there will still sights unseen, places unvisited, she had seen enough, done enough. And she had found no greater joy in life than she had in these precious last weeks at the side of her princeling.

“ _ Yes, I think I am _ .  _ Na lû e-govaned vîn, meleth nin, Fili.  _ _ Amrâlimê _ _. _ ”

* * *

A single raven, carrying a message from the Blue Mountains, had stayed the hand of the King Under the Mountain from mounting a pony and riding back across Arda in search of his nephew, for time enough had passed for the ravens sent to Mirkwood and to Rivendell to return, burdened with the lies of the elves, that the dragon had passed through but they had no knowledge of its intentions. Before he even broke the seal, he knew what the message would contain.

Time enough had passed, and with it, the summer solstice.

“The time of my earliest convenience has finally come. We have begun the journey home. Your sister, Dís.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WOW so sorry, I had a rough outline for how this would end with some bits filled in, like okay, yeah, I'll piece them together, it'll be great......and then went somewhere else totally different and way more painful. Ooops. And THEN, then I wrote and rewrote three separate endings before I reached this one.
> 
> And there will probably be an epilogue after this. Because I can't stop. But I've marked this as complete for the time being anyway.
> 
> Translations:  
> Savo 'lass a lalaith = Have joy and laughter  
> Novaer = farewell/be good  
> Henig = child  
> N'i lû tôl = When the time will come/until then  
> Hiril vuin = (beloved) my lady  
> Gurin glassui = my heart is glad/thank you  
> Na lû e-govaned vîn = until the time of our next meeting  
> Meleth nin = my love  
> Amrâlimê = my love
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this, thank you for reaching the end with me. This is the first fic that I've finished, gone from beginning to end, without abandoning it for another plot bunny, so I'm quite proud to be honest. Let this be my contribution to the Great Quarantine of 2020.
> 
> May you all stay safe and healthy.
> 
> Best end song, "Find Me (feat. Birdy)" by Sigma. A lil dancy, but don't we need a little happy right now?


End file.
